The Summer
by Summersfan
Summary: AU Season Six. What if the Council had called Faith back to protect the Hellmouth after Buffy died again? Souls were gained and lost, people fell in love but not necessarily with each other and Angelus returned. Complete! Edited 5/08!
1. Prologue: Calling

Disclaimer: What do I own? Nothing. What does Joss own? Everything.

Summary: What if, the summer Buffy was dead, the Watchers brought Faith back to guard the Hellmouth?

Author's Notes: My very first novel-length fanfic. Poorly plotted, the villains aren't as good as I'd like--but it has some shining moments, in my opinion.

* * *

Sometimes, jail could be a redemptive experience.

At least that was what Quentin Travers sincerely hoped, right now, sitting and waiting for Faith to join him in the stiflingly hot visiting room. Every ounce of instinct he had told him this was a very bad idea, one that could easily get him killed, or worse.

The door at the far end of the room opened, and the raven-haired Slayer stepped into the room. She looked blankly at him for a long moment, then turned to leave.

"I have a release order for you right here," he said loudly, trying to keep her attention. He could have just let her go, but he wasn't unnecessarily cruel.

She froze. "A release? So you can drag me back to London? Kill me?" she asked coldly. She didn't turn to face him, but he had no doubt that she could hit him without turning to look and see where he was, that he would be very dead if she decided to kill him. He wished he could have sent somebody else to do this, but who could he trust with something this delicate?

"Buffy is dead," he said, and Faith flinched.

"B bought it again, huh?" she asked as flippantly as she could manage. "Great. Fine. So another chump got called. Go bother her." The muscles in her back gave the lie to her words, locking up solidly, showing the tension so thick in her voice. The anger, the grief, the things unresolved between the two girls.

"There is no new Slayer," replied Quentin calmly. Well, this was going quite well, actually. In his mind most scenarios had either involved her screaming and not listening or diving through the plastic barrier and trying to kill him, turning her inner rage on him.

Which was why he had a tranquilizer pistol in one pocket. One that he was certain would be almost no use if she lost it completely, but one that was his only hope of surviving if she did lose it.

"No new Slayer?" asked Faith. Now she turned her head slightly, looking at him in disbelief.

"When Buffy died the first time, the line passed from her," said Quentin. "Her subsequent death did not call another Slayer. Only your death can call another Slayer."

She processed it, hearing the unspoken threat. "Is that why you're here? To kill me?" There was bravado in the words, but also a certain amount of fear hiding behind it.

Quentin sighed. "That remains to be seen, Faith."

She arched an eyebrow grimly. "Oh?"

"It depends on you," he said firmly. He glanced at the sheaf of papers on the desk in front of him. "We're giving you a second chance." The words were like ash in his mouth.

"So who's twisting your arm?" she asked, actually crossing the room and sitting down opposite him. He glanced at her in surprise.

"Let's be clear; if it were up to me and the more conservative elements within the Watchers, there would be no second chance. But we have a great need for you now. Buffy was facing a Hell-God when she died, and we need a Slayer to fight that. If you die, a new, inexperienced Slayer will rise. We don't know at this time if the Hell-God is still active--Rupert Giles reports that it is dead, but how does one truly kill a God? If it is still active, we can't risk activating a new Slayer. According to the reports of Wyndham-Pryce--"

Faith arched a slim brow. "Even ol Wes?"

"He says that you have a desire to reform."

She shrugged. "And you're going to Watcher me all up and send me into the field?" she asked, her eyes boring into him.

"That is the plan." He replied.

She leaned back slowly. "And if I don't you'll just leave me here to rot?"

Quentin hesitated, but then decided honesty was the best policy. Only because he was almost certain she would hear a lie, and probably tear his lungs out for it. She would have to be stupid not to hear the plain truth behind his words. His palms were sweaty, he noted distantly. "The Hellmouth needs a Slayer. If you cannot guard it, then we must... activate... a new Slayer."

She blinked, all too aware what that meant. "Okay." She flashed him a wide, sardonic grin. "I'm in, then."

He stood up. "Good. I'll file the papers, and you should be out by tonight. I have your new Watcher waiting to escort you to Sunnydale."

Faith let the guards take her back to her cell, fighting down any feelings of nausea. Holding back any tears. Not showing any pain, or any fear. In a place like that, you could get killed for any one of those.

Weakness was not tolerated.

Buffy was gone, and just like that everything came flooding back to her. Everything she thought she'd already gotten over. Every little pain, every little time she'd hurt Buffy.

Stolen her life.

And now she had to go live that life she'd tried to steal. Had to go back and fight the good fight, face all of B's friends, and the look on their faces as she once again came back and stole Buffy's life.

It wasn't going to be easy.

* * *

**Sunnydale, five minutes later.**

Giles nodded. "Yes, I understand." He said, then hung the phone up. "Faith has agreed," he said to his lone companion, exhaling. "Her new Watcher will bring her out here later today."

Spike sat in the opposite corner, watching the former Watcher. He was silent, his face devoid of anything remotely human. He couldn't have made a more perfect mask out of the face by letting the demon out.

Giles considered the vampire. "Where's Dawn?" he asked, finally, avoiding any deeper questions. There wasn't an ounce of trust for the vampire in him, but there was too much need, too much hanging on this, for him to alienate the creature.

"School," said the vampire. "Gets out in half an hour."

"Xander?"

"At work."

"Anya?"

Spike tilted his head slightly, a very human gesture. One so very out of place on that particular creature. "Demon-girl should be on her way to the Magic Box," he decided finally. "Unless she's running late again."

"Willow and Tara?"

He could almost see their class schedules floating across the vampire's eyes. "They're in Mythology. They have a Wiccan group tonight." There was almost a flash of some emotion in his eyes, but he buried it.

Giles considered choking the vampire to try and get some of his former life into him, but decided against it. Perhaps it was better to have the vampire grieve like this; less destructive than some of the other things he might do to express his sense of loss.

"Plan of action?" asked Giles. He hated relying on the vampire like this, but when you came right down to it Spike remembered everything, every little detail, especially the hateful ones, and he was much better than Giles at pretending normalcy. It was that or start writing everything down, and Giles hated to do that.

"You pick up the Bit. I'll be lurking around the house when you get home." Spike touched the side of his head. "The whelp will probably want to patrol. Tell him a full 'scooby' meeting tonight. Tell them all about the crazy bird coming back to us."

Giles nodded. "I'll do that. Er...will you need any money for blood?"

Spike looked up at him, and Giles already knew the answer. "No," said Spike.

Giles cringed. It felt somehow wrong to offer money for Spike's help, wrong to offer Spike money at all, on several levels. First, because Spike offered his help freely, and offering money was debasing it.

Secondly, because Spike was a monster, and Giles knew that he shouldn't have done anything with Spike except stake him.

Except that Spike had been helpful. Beyond helpful. Every night he patrolled with them, and even acting the way he was now he was more a warrior than any of them, more than a match for any of them, with vampiric strength and those terrible eyes that saw every weakness. He watched Dawn, when none of them could. He calmed Dawn, when none of them could. Comforted her.

He did everything they couldn't. He was just a monster, just a vampire, Giles had to remind himself.

He left without another word to Spike. Spike left too, heading for the entrance to the sewers.

* * *

Considering Buffy's death and other recent events, Giles thought that they all took the news about Faith rather well.

Willow's eyes hardened. "I'll kill her!" she muttered. Tara touched her shoulder soothingly, and the witch just glared at her.

Xander's eyes widened, and his mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally he just shrugged. Anya glanced at him, surprised, not understanding.

Dawn scowled.

Spike, of course, already knew. But even if he hadn't, he wouldn't have shown anything. He just sat in the darkest corner of the room, keeping his face hidden.

Giles nodded calmly. "There's no reason we should, er, have any troubles with her. With her here at least the burden of patrolling will be lifted from our heads."

And I'll be finally left without any shred of a mission, he added to himself.

Xander shook his head. "No, no troubles. She just went crazy last time and tried to kill us all. Me, especially." Anya's eyes widened.

"I don't like this plan!" she blurted out.

Giles coughed. "It's been done. She should be here in a few hours."

* * *

The walk out of the prison was longer than it had any right to be, all things considered. Out through the courtyard, now on the right side of the chainlink fence, wearing the clothes she had arrived at prison in. Through the large gate, past the guard standing there with a wary hand on his gun. The guard escorting her out stopped there, glaring down at her, and turned back.

She took a deep breath of the air, closing her eyes for a second.

"Any different than the air inside?" asked a British voice from her right.

"No," she said. "But I've been holding my breath since you people said you'd get me out, and that was this morning." She glanced at the Watcher, frowning slight. He appeared to be older than she had expected, with short-cropped white hair. His eyes were different colors. One was a light blue. The other was a milky white, and there was a scar under the eye. He wasn't wearing tweed, for which she grateful, but he was wearing a black suit.

"Ah. I'm Peter Gwinn." He extended his hand.

She glanced at it, debating whether or not to take it. She knew she should, trying to get off on a good start and all that, but somehow she just couldn't offer it to him. Couldn't reach out.

He gazed at her for a moment, then glanced at his hand and withdrew. "Shall we go? My car is right there."

She followed him to the car. "Yeah, let's book. You got us a place in Sunnydale to stay?"

"Indeed."

The seats were leather and roomy, and she leaned back into it, wondering what they had told this Watcher she had done, wondering what he knew about her.

They headed for Sunnydale, and every step closer they took felt like a curse to her.


	2. Warm Welcomes

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Faith wondered what her new Watcher's plan was. The plan for if she went bad. She knew he had to kill her if that happened, if she was no longer the weapon they wanted. It was inevitable.

But how would this skinny old stick kill her? A gun? A poison, in her food? Did he have backup hiding somewhere?

He drove in silence, keeping the car exactly at the speed limit, ignoring the cars passing them. He glanced at her. "Do you have a license?" he asked.

She shook her head silently, and he simply nodded.

The little snippets she could hear of his accent were familiar. Giles had spoken that way. And Wesley.

And now that her mind was on Giles she remembered that she'd probably see him in Sunnydale. Her stomach turned at the thought; although she hadn't given him the brutal treatment she'd given, say, Xander, or Willow. Or Buffy, but Buffy definitely wouldn't be there. And that hurt most of all. Why? Shouldn't it have been a relief that she didn't have to face the golden Slayer, with her blonde hair and shiny bright conscience?

* * *

Spike waited patiently for the Bit to come home. He sat still on the couch, patiently.

Yes, the Big Bad was now sitting patiently. Baby-sitting a little girl for no other reason than a promise to a lady. Was that pathetic or what?

The demon sat there stoically, ignoring his own doubts, fears, and ramblings. He was not going to die, not here. He was not going to go crazy from grief. Not going to resort to drinking, as he had when Dru left.

Why? Because he had a mission.

A sacred mission. A holy mission.

One that he'd made a promise about. And William the Bloody was many things, but he had never been a liar. He'd saved the world, once. Saved it from Angelus, of all people, the vampire who was the closest thing he'd ever had to a real Sire.

Dru didn't count.

And that was a very pathetic thing, for a vampire.

Not the Sire mix-up. The whole saving-the-world bit.

And then he'd done more pathetic things that he was ashamed of. Fallen in love with the Slayer. He could feel his stomach turn with the sheer wrongness of that.

He'd taken a beating to protect the Slayer's little sister. And that was a very pathetic thing. Very pathetic indeed.

And his undead chest swelled with pride at the thought. That was what he had descended to. Actually enjoying doing a good thing like that. His insides twisted at the thought.

How low was he?

He was so low now that everybody knew he was the Slayer's pet. The 'good' vampire, like Angel.

He could feel himself cringing at the very thought.

And all those thoughts ran underneath the slow, overwhelming torrent of pain that threatened to drive him to death.

But he had a mission, he reminded himself.

Dawn walked in the door, careful to close out the sunlight behind her. "Spike?" she said hopefully.

Fifteen days yesterday. Sixteen today.

"Bit?" He stood up. They had been friends before, but now it was hard. Very much so. She looked at him, and he could see it in her eyes. The silent recriminations. 'You could have saved me. Saved her.' He could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him.

And he knew what she saw in his eyes. The silent accusation. 'It was your fault. If not for you, she'd still be alive.'

He couldn't help it. He would never say it. He would die before saying that out loud to Dawn, kill any other man who accused her of being responsible for Buffy's death.

But there it was, between them. So difficult that they couldn't even really talk to each other. So difficult that she couldn't believe he was still here. So difficult he couldn't believe he was still here.

But there he was, and there she was.

"Rummy?" he asked, holding up the cards in his hand.

* * *

Willow glanced to Xander. "She died in a wash of mystical energy," she told him "That's not a natural death. She, she could be trapped in some hell dimension, suffering torment, because she saved the world. I'm not going to leave Buffy like that."

Xander swallowed. "But Faith—"

Willow's face hardened. "Faith. They let the killer out to guard us all, now? That's all the more reason we need to free Buffy. What if Faith goes bad again? Who's going to stop her? Spike? He can't hurt humans. And he's the closest thing we have to a Slayer right now."

"Besides Faith," said Xander.

"Who tried to kill us!" insisted Willow.

Xander nodded slowly. "Okay. Yeah. I'm with you."

* * *

Giles cleaned his glasses. "I'll be...leaving," He told Anya.

"Leaving?" she replied blankly.

"I'll be going back to England. Now that Buffy's...gone. Now that she's gone, I'm not, I'm not needed here."

Anya nodded. "And besides, they're bringing a new Watcher with Faith," she pointed out. "Redundancy issues."

"Er, yes," said Giles, putting his glasses back on. It was amazing that she'd managed to insult him so tactlessly without showing the slightest remorse. "Um, while I'm gone you'll be in charge of the Magic Box." She brightened up instantly. "And, um,"

"When do you leave?" interrupted Anya happily.

"Er, I'll need to put my affairs in order first." Insolent, thoughtless child.

"Oh, good," said Anya.

"Probably that will take quite some time," said Giles. He pointedly ignored the way her face fell at the news.

* * *

Spike watched Dawn sleep for a while, then slipped downstairs. He'd already staked out the easy chair as his territory. Where he sat when he watched over Dawn.

Sometime later, he knew, the Witches would return, and go to their room. Sometimes they noticed him. Sometimes they didn't. When they arrived he'd leave, slinking off in the dark. He was never there in the morning.

In the day there was light and laughter in the house. He'd told Willow if there wasn't he'd find some way to make good on the bottle promise from so long ago.

Because the Bit needed light and laughter. Two things he couldn't give her.

All he could do is protect her.

And help squash any baddies who put their head up.

Willow and Tara entered the front door, and turned on the lights. Spike blinked the spots out of his eyes, glaring at them.

"Spike?" said Willow uncertainly. "Spike, um, we have a plan."

"A plan?" he asked, glancing at her. Those words, coming out of her mouth, were never good.

"The buffy-bot," said Tara. "We can resurrect it."

Spike felt a white-hot pain in his chest. _It's not real._ "No need!" he said roughly, standing. "The other Slayer'll be here. No need to lie to keep the demons at bay. No need to make them think she's alive."

He swept out of the room, angry. And he wasn't even sure why he was angry. _It's not real._

Once outside he started looking for something to kill. He didn't care what. Harmless demons, dangerous demons, it didn't matter to him. He couldn't kill humans, so they were safe, but if not for the chip, they wouldn't have been. No matter what promises he had made.

* * *

Faith glanced at her Watcher. "Last time I was in Sunnydale I stayed at some real dives," she said conversationally. "But this would be the worst."

He glanced at the motel in distaste. "Yes, well, summer is not an ideal time to arrive. This town actually takes in tourists during the summer."

"Tourists?" said Faith, surprised. "What kind of tourists?" She had never been to Sunnydale in the summer.

Except that once when she'd been in a coma, but that didn't really count.

"I think mostly the kind searching for the lost gold mines rumored to be around here, or those who've heard mysterious things happen here and think it's some kind of Bermuda Triangle," replied Gwinn. "Are you ready?"

As they got out of the car Faith looked around, feeling a tingling at the back of her neck. Not a good one, either. She glanced to Gwinn. "You ever get that feeling you're being watched by something with fangs?"

Gwinn hesitated. "Not the sort you get, I don't think, but, yes, I don't think we're alone." He reached into an inner pocket on his suit and came out with a stake, which he tossed to her.

Faith looked around, grinning, trying to pinpoint the source of the tingling. She had worked out in prison, sometimes harder than she should have, but it was hardly a real release for the tension swirling in her. And ever since she heard Buffy had died she had wanted to hit something, to hit it very hard, and she couldn't really explain why.

A demon came flying off the roof of the motel, landing with a crunch next to them. Gwinn jumped back, but Faith hesitated. He hadn't jumped; he had very clearly been thrown.

The demon struggled to his feet. "Crap, crap, crap!" he said, shaking his head. "Come on, you skinny little punk, I'll tear you apart!" he roared at the roof, still shaking his head. He put a hand on each side of his head, groaning with pain.

He was easily seven feet tall. His skin was blue, and the little horns on the back of his arms looked easily able to tear through flesh.

"Excuse me," said Faith sweetly. "What are you doing?" The gentle and meek approach wasn't usually her first choice, but right now she'd settle for it.

The demon glared at her. "Run away," he advised. "Run away now. This thing that's coming, it's bad. Very bad. It'll kill you." He assumed a defensive stance as Faith heard something else launch off the roof. "I'll try to protect you, but I'm not sure I can."

"Why, you think I need protecting?" asked Faith.

The demon focused on her, and paled. "Slayer!" he whispered. He fell to his knees instantly. "Please don't kill me!" he begged. "I can give you important information in exchange for my life."

There was a crunch, and Faith glanced towards the source. The feeling in the back of her neck told her instantly that it was a vampire.

Her eyes told her it was William the Bloody. Spike. The vampire she'd met in Buffy's body. The one who'd threatened to kill her. A skinny, short vampire with bleached hair and a chiseled face.

Wait, was he the one who had killed Buffy? He'd seemed pretty sure of himself then. Promising to kill Buffy. And now she was dead, and he was here.

And he was looking at Faith in a way that made her really, really uncomfortable. A cold, calculating look. And she could see the bloodlust behind his eyes, the need for the fight.

He stalked forward. The demon was trembling, backing away.

"Get lost," said Spike to Faith, moving around her.

She moved quickly, swinging her arm around in punch that sent him staggering backwards. His eyes widened, and he rubbed his chest. "Bloody—!" He cut himself off as realization flooded his eyes. "You're Faith," he said coldly.

Peter Gwinn grabbed a crossbow off the back seat of his car, aiming it at Spike and firing. Faith had seen Angel catch a crossbow bolt, so it didn't surprise her that Spike was also able to do the same.

What surprised her was that he then glanced at the Watcher, some emotion in his eyes. Gratitude? No, that wasn't quite it. But it was a happier sort of attitude in his eyes. "Nice try," he said, tossing the crossbow bolt aside. He glanced to the demon. "I'm just doin a bit of pest control here, pet. Step aside and let me on with it then, eh?"

"Help me, please?" whimpered the huge, muscle-bound demon.

Spike growled.

Faith stood between the two demons, twirling a stake in her hand. Spike watched her eyes, ignoring the stake. The vampire's eyes narrowed, and his face shifted. The human façade fell away, replaced by his real face.

Faith ignored the change. Her best friend in the world right now was a vampire with a soul. Did he intend to intimidate her with that face?

"You're not letting me by," pointed out Spike. "Now, much as I'd hate to get off on the wrong foot with you, you're making me mad." He began to circle, going around her to get the demon, who skittered back behind Faith, keeping her between them.

Spike moved forward then, trying to go around her fast. She moved to intercept, and he lunged towards her. Her instincts told her to jump out of the way of his lunge, but her eyes told her otherwise. His legs were already set to catch him, to stop the lunge, and she held her ground.

He stopped in front of her, still with too far to go to actually hurt her. He'd gambled on her dodge, planned to use it to grab the demon, but he hadn't meant to hit her.

Interesting.

"Still a little neutered, Spikey?" she asked with a sneer. A full-on Faith sneer, complete with the tilt of her hips.

He leaned forward, now dangerously close to her. "You can't replace her," he hissed, his voice low and deadly. His words hit their target, and she flinched. "You can't even hope to be good enough to kiss her dead, rotting feet." And then he turned, walking away.

"Whoo," said the demon behind her. "That man has problems! Big problems."

Faith turned, grabbing the demon. "Why was he chasing you?" she asked, hauling him to his feet.

The demon flinched, held securely by her hand. "He's, he's been that way. He's turned on his own kind. Ever since those Initiative people came around, he's hunted demons."

"And what's this information you'll trade your life for?" asked Faith.

The demon fidgeted. "Well...uh..." There was desperation on his face, and she could see lies setting themselves up behind his eyes.

"You'll think of something?" mocked Faith.

"Uh, yeah, that's the idea," said the demon, worried now. Faith sighed.

"Go on, tell me you're not evil. You're just a cuddly demon." With each mocking phrase he seemed to shrink a little. There was panic in the demon's red eyes now, and he started to struggle, trying to escape.

"I'm just a scavenger!" he whined. "I only eat people after they've been dead for weeks! I don't kill them, honest! I'll never do it again, I'll never—!"

Faith punched him away, knocking him to the ground. He landed on his butt, surprised. "You owe me one," she said, threat in her voice. She twirled the stake in her hand. "When I come to collect, you better be ready, or I'll find you."

Gwinn cleared his throat. "Are you sure you want to start out on this foot? Start your new Slaying career by letting that piece of trash go?"

"The riff-raff need to know there's a new Slayer in town, and he's the best sort of messenger--the spineless sort," said Faith, walking around the car to join her Watcher, who was stowing his crossbow back inside the car, under the seat. "If you really want him dead, just shoot him."

"I'll bow to your judgment in this case," he replied. "I just want to avoid making it a habit to let demons live."

As the two of them walked away the demon gasped for air, leaning back on his arms and letting his head roll back to stare up at the sky. "Suckers," he muttered.

From this vantage point he could see Spike looking down at him from directly behind him, grinning.

"Aw, man, no!" said the demon, trying to stand up. "I don't kill humans!"

"I don't care," replied Spike, grabbing the demon by the neck. "I don't bloody care!" He sank his teeth into the large demon's neck, sucking the demon's blood out of him. Demon's blood was disgusting, and not very nutritious, but there was life in it, and it was free. And he felt more like his former self when actually draining the life out of something.


	3. Cold monsters

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

Sixteen days yesterday. Seventeen today.

Spike entered the crypt as dawn broke, flinging himself on the cot. Rupert would want him to show up at the shop around three or four. Much too early after a night filled with violence.

But he would be there.

* * *

When Faith heard the tapping at the door she assumed that meant her Watcher expected her to be up. "I'm up," she grumbled, climbing out of the bed.

"I left some clothes for you," he called through the door.

She lifted the plastic bag off the floor, glaring blearily at it. Had it been there last night? It must have; unless he had come in and left it. She shook the clothes out onto the bed. Jeans, a white tee, underwear. Most of it was not quite her size, but a surprisingly good guess. Did he have good eyes, or did that have her bra size written down somewhere? Either way, it was creepy.

She pulled on her leather jacket over it. It wasn't quite up to her usual style, but she was hardly rolling in clothes.

She staggered her way out of the motel room. She was still amazed that he had sprung for two, especially considering her past. He was waiting for her outside, at the car.

"I have plans for today," she told him, stretching.

"Okay," he said. He'd bought a newspaper somewhere and was reading it. "We'll need to talk about the details of patrolling and the current threats out there sometime soon. Would you like to meet me somewhere for lunch?"

That was a good reaction, at least in her opinion. If he started freaking out and trying to micromanage her this early, he was never going to be able to go the distance.

"I thought I'd go see Giles. Ask him...a few questions." She managed to say it calmly, despite all the turmoil burning up inside her.

"Why?"

She quailed just a bit. "It's business," she said brusquely. "I need to know what killed Buffy. You know, see if I need to worry about it."

"It's my understanding we don't," said Gwinn. "Or he said we don't, at any rate. But, as you say, knowing more about that is a good strategy. Would you like a ride?"

Ah, tacitly asking to come along instead of protesting. Faith smiled. This Watcher was flexible, and that was a good trait. A very good trait. "Yeah, that'd be good."

There, she said firmly to her inner Angel. I'm making nice with the new Watcher. Letting him in, not holding him at arms length. Making nice.

She followed him out the door and to the car. "He'll be at his shop this late," said Gwinn.

"Shop? What shop?" She climbed into the passenger's seat, already out of the loop. He started it up and headed out, squinting at her out of the corner of his eye.

"He bought a store specializing in magical items and materials. More or less a recent development. I believe it also serves as a headquarters of sorts for the group."

"Right," said Faith, a bit annoyed.

"Things are a little different."

"Oh, I don't think they're that different. You have vampires, demons, and human. Kill the vampires and demons, don't kill the humans. Right? Or was it the other way around? I'm always forgetting."

Gwinn looked at her sharply with his good eye. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, lighten up." She leaned back and crossed her arms.

"Here we are," said Gwinn stiffly.

And Faith had forgotten how small Sunnydale was. And there was the shop, and she could see Giles inside. And now why was it so hard to move?

The Watcher got out and headed in, and that broke the spell. Suddenly she had to move, had to follow him. She couldn't show this weakness in front of him, couldn't let him think she was afraid. Not of Giles.

And then Giles saw them, and she wished she were back out in the car.

"Faith," said Giles, with a tiny smile. One he didn't really mean, she could see. She stuffed her hands in her pockets.

"Hey." She followed Gwinn through the door and stood there, at the door, ready to bolt away at the first sign of trouble. She refused to get any closer to the counter he was standing behind. And, standing there, what was there to say? Spike was right; she couldn't replace Buffy.

That reminded her of something else. "Did Spike kill Buffy?" she blurted out. Giles actually flinched. Faith felt her stomach turn at the look on his face.

And now she was intruding on his grief. Why had she come here?

"No," said Giles, surprising her. "No, Spike's...it's complicated." He glanced at Gwinn, who stared owlishly at him with his good eye. "Peter," he greeted the Watcher.

"Rupert," said the other, his voice tight. Of course, he didn't trust Giles. Giles was a renegade, just like Faith. The thought almost made her laugh out loud, the idea that they were anything alike.

"I met Spike. Last night," said Faith. "He seemed dangerous."

Giles shook his head. "I can't explain Spike," he said, turning away. "I can only describe him. I don't understand him, not any more."

Faith raised an eyebrow, but bit back the caustic comment on the tip of her tongue. She didn't want to drive him further away. She could see the wariness in his eyes, and also the pain.

She didn't want to be here.

"Just describe, then," said Faith. "Cause he made big with the threats."

Giles sighed. "He won't—he was stalking Buffy." Faith's eyes narrowed. "He was obsessed with her. But before she died he promised to take care of her sister."

"Sister?" said Faith. "What sis—" And for a second Giles' face stiffened, but then Faith trailed off. "Right, Dawn," she said, surprised that she hadn't remembered the little sister. "Of course. He was stalking her? And she didn't stake him?"

Giles hesitated. "He's been...helping us," he said. When he wasn't chaining Buffy up and professing his undying love to her, he added silently.

No, Giles didn't think he'd mention that just yet. It might tip her off that Spike wasn't really a good vampire. Or, on second thought, maybe he should. Did he want her to fall into the same mental trap he was falling into, labeling the vampire harmless? No vampire was harmless.

Hadn't Angelus taught him that? "He was so obsessed with Buffy that he chained her up and told her he loved her," Giles added. And he'd just used her name without crying. That was good.

Faith's eyes narrowed. "Chained her up? I reiterate, she didn't stake him?"

"He took a beating for Dawn. From a hell-god who nearly killed him," said Giles. As long as they were having the inevitable Spike discussion, they might as well discuss it all. For the sake of fairness. "He's still Spike. Still evil. But he's been helping us. We can't explain it. Can hardly understand it."

Faith shrugged. "So I should keep an eye on him, I guess. Where's he living?"

"Er, when he's not watching Dawn?" asked Giles.

"Watching Dawn?" asked Faith, shocked. Yes, she'd heard the part about promising to take care of her. But they let him?

Giles squirmed. Yes, he knew it was wrong to leave the girl with a monster without a soul. A monster that could kill her. But what choice did they have? Besides, none of them were powerful enough to keep the girl safe.

Spike was.

He'd already taken over the Slaying duties. Taken over patrolling the Hellmouth. Although Giles knew it was as much about the violence as anything else.

Faith shook her head. "So he's an undead babysitter. Got it." Her face was hard, though, and Giles felt a twinge of relief. She understood well enough not to approve, well enough that she would probably kill Spike.

Which was good, because even if the Scoobies decided to kill Spike, Giles wasn't sure they could.

Peter Gwinn remained quiet. That was all Giles could remember of the man, anyway, from England. A perennially quiet man. He tried to remember what Peter had been doing all these years, but couldn't.

"Peter. How've you been?" he asked, trying to assess the Watcher. Trying to figure out what kind of man the Council had sent, what they thought they were doing with him.

"Fine," said Gwinn. Giles studied the ruined eye, wondering what had done it, but didn't ask. It didn't seem fair.

Faith was fairly twitching. "You said hell god. Is that still a problem?"

Giles didn't jump, or reply immediately, or anything that would have marked him as guilty. Instead he sighed, looking downward. "Buffy took care of it," he said simply.

Faith twitched. That had elicited the reaction he'd hoped for, Buffy's death distracting her from the entire question of Glory's death. With any luck it wouldn't come up again.

"Okay," said Faith, breathing out. "We'll, um, we'll be fighting evil, then." She began edging towards the door.

"We're staying at the Farraday Motel," said Gwinn. "I'm in room 15. Ring me if you hear anything."

Giles let out a sigh. "I'm shoving off in a week or two." Or five or six, he added to himself bitterly.

Faith coughed. "You're what?"

"My duty here is done. I managed to get my Slayer killed." His smile wasn't pretty. "And that would be the final word for a Watcher."

Faith swallowed. "Right." She walked away, not having anything more to say to that; not after having tried to kill Buffy herself. Gwinn followed her after a minute.

"Where are we going?" asked Gwinn, once they were well outside the shop.

"Anywhere," said Faith, angrily, walking past his car. He continued to follow her, taking off the tweed coat in the warm sun. She didn't take off the leather jacket. She liked the too-hot feeling, the prickling warmth in her skull.

It helped drive back the cold in the pit of her stomach.

She walked faster, not caring where she was going, and then she had to stop, because someone was standing in front of her. She glanced up, took in the dark, dorky hair, and almost laughed. Or cried. And she backed up quickly.

Xander stared at her, his mouth gaping open, and then he snapped it shut. "Faith!" he squeaked, backing up. He was wearing jeans and a sweaty tee, and was covered with flecks of sawdust and dirt. He was wearing work gloves.

"Hey," said Faith, not meeting his eyes.

"Uh, hey." He edged around her, and then headed for the Magic Box. Faith sighed.

Gwinn glanced at her, probing at her with that eye of his, trying to understand. "That was odd."

"Yeah, last time I saw him I tried to kill him. Started choking him. He was saved by his least favorite vampire."

She walked on, then stopped, looking around. She had no idea what to do now.

"No, I wasn't," said Xander, from behind her. She turned, glancing at him with surprise.

"What?" said Gwinn, turning around a little more slowly, trying to figure out the dynamic between them.

"I wasn't saved by my least-favorite vampire," said Xander. He shrugged. "Spike stole that title a while back."

He turned and hurried on into the Magic Box. Faith frowned, not sure what to make of that.

"This Spike...he strikes me as dangerous. You called him William the Bloody," said Gwinn. "Is that the same William the Bloody that killed two Slayers?"

Faith shrugged. "Could be."

Gwinn nodded thoughtfully. "I have some research to do. Ah, it's a bit early for lunch, still, but I'll need to unpack to study; we need to talk about patrolling and what-not before I do that... would it be okay if we ate now?"

"You buying?"

"Yes." There was a little gratitude hidden in that too-proper voice. Faith glanced at him, surprised by his tone. He glanced at her. And for just a second she realized the delicate balance he was trying to, trying to be a Watcher and a warden at the same time, trying not to box her in, trying not let her fly too free.

She hated him a little bit for it.

"Good. Real food, not some crappy Watcher substitute," she said, heading for a promising looking restaurant.

* * *

Spike sat alone in his crypt, brooding.

Well, no, he wasn't brooding. Because that was what Angel did. That was Angel's gig. Not his. Angel was a stupid vampire with a soul. And a huge forehead. And stupid hair.

He was a vampire. A monster with no soul, who couldn't feel regret.

Which was precisely why his dream had been about saving Buffy.

No regret.

"Every bloody night," he complained, taking out a cigarette.

And this was the only place he smoked now, following a long lecture on the dangers of secondhand smoke by the Witches. He couldn't even smoke in peace.

A promise to a lady.

Sixteen days yesterday. Seventeen today.

It was nearly four o'clock. Spike had slept in a little. He needed to be there when the Bit got out of school. Be there in the evening for her friends. Watch her till they got back.

Then he got to kill something.

Dreary, monotonous days stretched together into dreary monotonous nights. All blurred by lack of sleep.

At least he was eating properly, he thought to himself.

Speaking of which, it was feeding time. He moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a mug of pig's blood. He wished he had a microwave, but that just wasn't to be.

Not for now, anyway.

He sipped the lukewarm blood, and wished he at least had a refrigerator that worked.

But, again, not for now.

He gulped down the blood as quickly as possible and headed out. He had more stashed in the house, and there was a microwave there, too.

He headed out, swinging a blanket over his head and shoulders, running through the sunlight. Through the midst of death itself, dancing with death just a heartbeat away, shining through his blanket in prickly waves.

It was poetic, and it was stupid.

Stupider yet to run into somebody, with all that deadly sunlight around. But how was he supposed to see with a blanket over his head?

They fell to the ground, and he was on top of the person he'd run into, and for a brief second he said a prayer. Please let it not be Xander, he said.

And then he was thrown off by strong arms, arms too strong for someone walking in daylight, and he knew it wasn't Xander. It was somebody with arms that could bend steel.

It was the Slayer.

He scrambled around, searching for shadows, and found himself at the door of the Magic Box. He opened it up and scrambled inside, heading for the counter. It was always dark behind the counter.

"Spike?" said Giles, a voice from far away, and Spike threw the blanket off, returning his vision to himself. Giles was standing behind the counter, and Faith stood in the door. Spike scrambled back, away from the indirect sunlight that prickled at his skin, into the darkest shadows.

"So this is Spike," said a coolly analytical voice from the door. Spike squinted at the figure. White hair, a whiter eye, a scar, tall and lean. And a Watcher, from the clothing.

Faith moved closer, in front of her Watcher. The Watcher continued speaking. "William the Bloody, who's killed two Slayers."

Spike shifted into gameface quickly, letting his human façade vanish. "Falling behind, Watcher-boy. If you count Buffy, the number is up to three."

Giles elbowed Spike in the stomach, moving in front of him. "You can't count Buffy."

"I can too," countered Spike. "If it weren't for me, she would still be alive."

Giles elbowed Spike in the stomach again, not liking the look on Faith's face as she stalked closer. "You tried to save her!" he said sharply. Was it guilt that made him try to save Spike? No, it was need. He didn't trust Spike, but he didn't trust this Slayer either, saw Spike. And he wanted a weapon to hand if he had to face her.

"Well, I couldn't have been trying very hard, could I have? You, you never had a chance, Watcher." He put a hand on Giles' shoulder to push him away, but grimaced and let the hand fall. "None of you had a chance. I had a chance!" He glanced at Faith. "And Dawn's waiting for you." That part was directed Giles, despite the direction of his gaze.

Giles hesitated, not wanting to move. Anya was nowhere to be seen, meaning he would be leaving Spike behind, facing Faith, and he was sure how that would end if he left now. "We can call Willow. She can pick up Dawn today."

"She and Tara have a witch-group meeting tonight." Spike finally shifted back to his human face. "You have to pick her up. I'll watch the shop till you get back with Dawn, then take her home."

Giles winced, watching Faith's face. "All right."

He hoped Faith and Peter would watch the shop after they dusted Spike, but it seemed a bit much to ask them outright, so he simply fled.


	4. Fights

Disclaimer: In case you were wondering, Jess Whedon owns all the lovely, imperfect, flawed yet still beautiful characters that I lovingly borrowed to fill with my vision of how much more beautiful they could be ...

* * *

Spike leaned back against the wall, running a hand over the light red lines on his face where the sun had breached the thin protection of the blanket. He watched Faith, a dark Slayer with a confused face and bee-stung lips, and he looked past the defenses she was conjuring up, past the face of anger and surliness. Under it she was a hurt young woman, and he knew that it wouldn't take much needling to drive her to something violent.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to, not yet.

"You tried to save her?" She said, confused.

He chuckled. "Pathetic, inn't it?" he said with a broad sneer. "Imagine if you will a vampire so pathetic he tried to save the Slayer. No, worse than that: one so pathetic he failed."

Looking at him she could clearly see the hurt in his eyes, the pain. She glanced at Gwinn, who had a hard expression on his face. She glanced back to Spike. "You still can't hurt humans, can you?" she asked him.

"No," he said, his voice small. "Can't hurt humans." He gave a low chuckle. "You're loving this, aren't you? The big bad vampire who couldn't fight back." He spread his arms wide, leaving his chest wide open.

Spike was relaxed, ready. Death had finally come for him, and he was ready. It would only take a few more carefully chosen phrases about Buffy to drive her to it. A few more needles in her skin, a few more barbs, and he could have the respite he longed for.

_A promise to a lady..._

His face hardened with the memory, and he snatched his arms back together, folding them over his chest. He pulled the despair back into himself, pulled everything back. He wasn't going to do this.

He wasn't going to commit suicide by Slayer.

He had a job.

So now that he had wound the Slayer up, it was time to let her down. "You done laughing at the failed vampire, Slayer?" And even as he said it, he regretted it. Slayer was Buffy's title, not this wannabe.

She gazed at him darkly. "You know, I can understand Angel." Spike flinched backwards. "He's got a soul. That's why he's good. What about you? Why are you good?"

"I'm not good," growled Spike, forgetting the job of unwinding her. "I'm not some white-hat warrior battling evil. I'm just..." He remembered Buffy, standing on those stairs. Inviting him back into her house. Treating him like a man, not a monster. "I'm just not evil," he finished lamely.

Faith arched an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

Spike tried to back up, but he was already pressed against the wall so it became a shift, a desperate, trapped shift on his heels. "I made a promise to a lady," he said. "I told her I'd watch over her sister till the end of the world. That's not something I take lightly."

And the Watcher was coming closer, realized Spike with a sinking heart. He hated that. Couldn't they leave well enough alone? No, they had to pry.

Well, try, he silently challenged the Watcher, sliding his expression of sarcastic disdain on like a mask. "Now, you lot going to buy something?" He put his hands down on the counter, leaning forward with a leer. "Maybe Watcher-boy wants a love spell, eh? Though I don't reckon you need em," he added in Faith's direction. She scowled.

Spike leaned forward. "Now, the good stuff's a bit expensive, but on that shiny guilt-free income from the council of wankers, I'm sure you can afford it," he said to the Watcher, who was scowling harder than Faith.

"I cannot believe Rupert trusts a monster such as you," said Gwinn firmly, leaning forward. "How did you convince him to trust you?"

"Convince him?" snorted Spike. "He don't trust me, you're right." He leaned back. "If you're not going to buy anything, can you not stand so close to the counter? You'll keep the other customers from seeing it, an' then they won't buy, and you won't believe how mad her royal capital-ness gets then."

A blonde woman Faith didn't recognize walked in the door, the bell ringing loudly as she did. "Spike! How nice of you to keep the counter for me," she said with a large, fake smile pasted on her face. "Have you scared any other paying customers off yet?"

"No. This lot isn't customers. This is Faith."

The blonde woman recoiled. "Ah! Can you bite her, Spike?"

"Chip," said Spike wearily, leaning back against the wall. Faith stared at the blonde girl.

"Why would you want him to bite me?" she asked.

Anya pouted. "You tried to kill my Xander," she said. "If you had I wouldn't be enjoying orgasms with him."

Faith grinned. "Oh, yeah, those weren't bad," she said.

Anya's mouth dropped open, and she scowled. "You slept with Xander!" she yelled angrily.

Spike chuckled. "Well, in that case I take back what I said about not needing a good love spell."

"Spike," said Anya warningly. "What have I told you about keeping the register?"

Spike sighed. "Just be quiet and sell things. Don't yell, scream, or beat the customers. I got it!"

"I thought you couldn't beat humans?" asked Gwinn, quick to notice the discrepancy.

"And who said all our customers are humans?" asked Spike, moving from behind the counter. "Take it, demon-girl."

"Eep!" Squealed Anya, glancing to Faith. "Not a demon, not a demon!" she said quickly.

"I know," said Faith. Anya gave her an odd look. "Slayer-sense."

Anya frowned. "Ex-demon, that's what he meant. Fully human now, though!" She scooted behind the counter quickly. "Can I interest you in any of our fine goods?"

Gwinn coughed uncomfortably, watching Spike. Spike glowered at him. "They don't want your spell-stuff, pet," said Spike. "They're just here to watch me."

Anya deflated slightly. "Well, why don't you go back to the house?"

"Because Rupes is bringin the Bit here." Spike eyed Gwinn, who returned the inquisitive gaze.

Faith leaned forward on the counter towards Anya. "So, seriously, you and Xander? Wow. Did he mature, or is he still...?"

"Still," said Anya simply, not needing to elaborate, for once.

Faith laughed. "Lucky guy."

Dawn and Giles entered the shop together at that point, breathing a sigh of relief together at the sight of Spike, not dust.

Giles recovered quickly and headed for the back of the shop. "I'll be doing inventory, Anya," he said cheerfully. He had no intention of inserting himself into this situation.

Dawn eyed Spike cautiously, then moved closer to him. She carefully invaded his personal space, standing with him and glaring at Faith. Spike eyed the two of them a moment more, then put an arm around the Bit's shoulders.

"Ready to go home, Bit?" he asked.

"I have some homework," she said. "I can do it here, can't I?" Spike cringed. He'd allowed it before, but he wanted to get away from the Slayer.

Faith watched Giles go, and felt relief when he was gone. It was hard seeing the Watcher, seeing fear in his eyes.

And then she was angry. She'd paid her debt, hadn't she? She'd gone to prison! Of her own volition she'd turned herself in! She'd done the right thing! And still he had fear in his eyes, still he wouldn't accept what she was giving!

She turned to Spike in anger, shoving him. That was something familiar. "Get your hands off Dawn!" she spat angrily.

Spike growled, shifting to gameface, but then the mask slid off his face, leaving only frustration. Dawn grabbed Spike. "Don't touch him!" she yelled at Faith, moving between them. Faith glowered at her and stalked out the door.

Spike felt an actual pang of sympathy for the Slayer, but tamped it down furiously. "Homework, Bit," he said loudly, pushing her away from the sunlight that pricked angrily at his skin.

* * *

That night Spike sat alone on top of a crypt, simply sitting. That pang of sympathy had been all wrong. He was supposed to hate the Slayer, hunt the Slayer. Buffy-obsession aside.

Because you could explain away love. He had loved. Terrific. Okay, and he loved the Slayer. Wow, weird.

But sympathy for a Slayer you weren't in love with? That was inexcusable. He was an animal. A monster.

He wasn't supposed to feel that.

He could hear something creeping beneath him, and he looked down. He could see a vampire, and he could see the Slayer stalking the stubby creature. The vampire didn't see the Slayer, and seemed clueless, simply walking along happily, headed off to a new meal.

Spike considered the odds briefly.

"Oy!" he yelled, jumping down. "Fledgling!"

"What?" said the vampire, spinning around to face Spike, surprised and unhappy.

"You idiot!" said Spike, sneering as he pointed back the way the vampire had come. "Do you see that girl, tracking you?"

Actually, neither of them could see her, thanks to her position, hidden by the gravestones, but they could both smell her, so the vampire nodded.

"She's the Slayer, you git!" said Spike. The vampire would have gone paler, if it had been possible. His eyes widened. "Now, come on, let's see what you've got." Spike jabbed a finger at the younger vampire. "Attack her."

"Are you insane?" asked the vampire. "It's running time!"

Spike shook his head. "She'll catch you. She always does. Just go over there and try to kill her."

"Hey!" said Faith, stepping out from behind a gravestone. "You ruined the element of surprise!"

"Aaaa!" screamed the vampire, in a high-pitched voice, staring at Faith.

Spike shrugged, whipping a stake out of his duster. "It didn't seem fair to me," he said, stabbing the vampire, who was gaping at Faith, in the back. The vampire exploded into dust. "The element of surprise? Would you have stabbed him in the back? Hardly sporting."

"Sporting?" said Faith, moving closer. He squinted at her. "You care about sporting?"

"No. Was hoping to see a fight, that's all." He sniffed, rubbing his nose. "Git wasn't even good for that."

"You hoped to see a fight," said Faith flatly.

"Well, I can beat demons. But you're a Slayer. Watching your lot fight is usually pretty fun."

She shook her head. "How are you insane, let me list the ways." She moved closer. "So you're an evil vampire, but you protect the little sister. Or, rather, you get protected by the little sister."

Spike shrugged, backing up a little. "I'm evil enough."

"Oo," said Faith mockingly. "You're evil. That's why you sat and held her hand while she did homework."

"You know nothing about it!" Now he was angry, and it slipped into his voice.

"I suppose you're going to tell me you're better than all those demons out there." She was just picking up the argument where they had left, interrupted by other people. She was ready to end that argument now.

"No!" said Spike, his voice lowering dangerously. "I'm worse."

"I suppose it's all some big tragic story," said Faith. "The great love affair of our time. Funny, I thought that was Angel's gig."

Spike growled at the mention of his Grand-Sire. "A love affair involves two people in love. You're thinking of a great, grand obsession."

She paused. "But she trusted you, apparently. She didn't stake you, at least."

"She nearly did." He wasn't sure what else to say. Why didn't she? Because he helped her? Because he protected her sister? It didn't matter.

Faith eyed him warily. "You're right. You're a dangerous vampire."

He smirked. "Really?" he asked hopefully.

"You're twisting and bending the rules, acting good. But you're not good at all, you're just pretending. Why do you pretend? Is it the chip?"

He twisted his mouth into a scowl. "It's not the bloody chip!" he said angrily. "I was evil even with the chip! O' course, you weren't here. But I did evil things! I perpetrated evil! I was the Big Bad!" He vamped out, his face shifting into a demonic mask.

"And then your little Buffy obsession made you good." There was a mocking tone in her voice, and she stepped closer.

"Don't you talk about Buffy," he growled.

She felt her stomach jump when he said it, remembering his words. _You can't replace her._ "What's the matter, no lips good enough to even say her name?"

"Don't talk about what you don't know about!" he said, his voice rising. He was almost shouting.

"Aw, poor Spike. Not good enough, and you know it."

He swung for her, hard. He connected, the punch striking her dead on in the face, knocking her backwards against the tombstone behind her. She was surprised, especially since she'd thought he was completely toothless. The blow was enough to knock her dizzy, and she staggered, held up only by the tombstone she'd run into.

Spike let out a cry of agony and clutched his head, falling to the ground and curling into a ball. "No, no..." he muttered, wrapping his arms around his head.

She shook her head, regaining her equilibrium. He remained curled up, and she kicked him in the ribs viciously. "What'sa matter, Spike, forget you have no teeth?"

He sniffed, rolling to his feet unsteadily. He met her gaze evenly, his cool once again firmly in place. He backed away from her, and for a second she saw something besides hatred in his eyes.

She saw pity.

"I'm not your problem. Not yet."

He turned his back on her to walk away, and she was once again possessed of the urge to hit him for his smugness. She started towards him, and he turned around, alarmed. She threw a punch at his face.

He caught the punch in his hand, holding it securely without hurting her in the slightest. "What do you think I am, your punching bag?" he growled, angry again.

"Oh, like you've never been hit by a Slayer before," she replied cockily. He tilted his head.

"That's different," he said, pushing her back, off balance. "The ones I fought before, sure they hit me. But I always hit first. And last. And Buffy?" He leered at her. "I enjoyed being hit by Buffy."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, I'm sure you did." She moved forward, finding her balance, ready for a fight.

His eyes narrowed. "You really want to fight me, huh?"

She shrugged, and he threw another blow at her. She caught it, surprised he didn't fall to the ground screaming again. "What happened to your chip?"

"It's all in the intent," he replied smugly. "If the punch isn't going to land..." He whirled, throwing a wild punch that went over her head. As she ducked his foot came up towards her. She grabbed it, using it to flip forward, kicking at him with both feet.

He grabbed her feet, swinging her around. She let go of his leg and grabbed a headstone, pulling free, letting him stagger away from her. She righted herself and threw a kick at him. He blocked easily.

"Oh, come on," he said. "All that time in the lockup make you soft?" He threw another punch, and she blocked it, even though she knew now it would never hit her anyway.

His actions were graceful, controlled. He was dancing with her, his body moving perfectly, quickly.

It was unlike anything she'd ever fought. Even fighting Buffy hadn't been like this. She understood suddenly how he had been able to kill two Slayers. It wasn't about speed, or strength. It was about this, the dance.

And if anybody else could dance like this, she would have liked to know. It was like nobody she'd ever fought before.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asked with a sneer. She caught his punch, holding him still.

"All that and you never beat Buffy?"

He shrugged, and she could see the hurt in her eyes. She could feel her own stomach tightening at the mention of Buffy, but she had to ask.

"She was better than the other Slayers," he said, stepping back, pulling out of her grip. "She didn't fight harder...she didn't fight better...she was just so full of spirit. So full of life." He blinked tears away. "She was the best." He turned his head away, unwilling to let her see him cry.

She swallowed. Of course he was right. B was the best. She'd beat Faith, hadn't she?

And here was Faith, trying to replace her.

"You can't replace her," whispered Spike, glancing back at Faith. "So don't even try. Just do her job, because you can do that."

Faith shook her head. "What did I do last time I tried to do her job?" she asked bitterly. "I betrayed her. I stole her life!"

Spike chuckled. "Last time I tried to do her job, I got her killed," he told Faith. "Bet you didn't do that badly."

He turned and stalked away gracefully, leaving Faith alone with her calling.


	5. Ozymandius

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Absolutely nothing! (said in the voice of Lina Lamont from Singing in the Rain, and I don't own her either!)

* * *

Faith returned to the motel. There were no lights in her Watcher's motel room, so she went straight to hers. She hadn't bothered locking it; it wasn't as if she had anything in the room anyway. She flopped down on the bed, not even bothering to take off her shoes.

She lay there on her back, staring up at the ceiling, not feeling even slightly tired. She felt wired, restless, filled with skittering energy that threatened to send her into a fit of screaming and yelling and trying to climb the walls.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the walls, the ratty cobwebs climbing the walls.

She remembered the look in his eyes when she'd swung at him. Remembering the glee in his eyes when they'd danced. That had been familiar, in a way. A release, after so long holding it all back.

At the same time, it had been frustrating. All the work, all the buildup, and no staking.

She could feel every muscle aching with the need for sleep, but her mind was filled with thoughts, with loud, colorful shouts. With a shock of startlingly blonde hair, and a black leather jacket that moved with the fluid grace of death itself.

She snapped her eyes open, frowning, and rolled over onto her stomach, propping her chin up on one forearm and staring at the blinking lights on her clock. She tried to empty her mind, silencing the voices crying for attention.

Her stomach growled.

She rolled off the bed, heading for the fridge. There was something familiar about this, about slaying, and for a moment she remembered Buffy's words.

"A low-fat yogurt," she muttered, yanking open the mini-fridge. It was empty, of course. She stared into the fridge, wrapping her arms around her torso against the blast of cold. She could feel her bones, radiating cold into the flesh, which felt the thin. Thin and cold.

She returned to the bed, wrapping herself in blankets on top of the leather jacket. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, wondering why the vampire had helped Buffy.

* * *

Spike threw himself into his crypt, gasping for breath. The blood leaking from a myriad of cuts all over him dripped onto the stone floor, leaving a trail of aching misery.

It was pig's blood, life stolen from animals. A weak half-life for a pathetic, weak half-monster.

He groaned, sitting up, wiping the blood off his face. A shadow moved deep within his crypt, and he glanced up.

"You know I can smell you, Red," he said to the witch.

"Sorry," said Willow, stepping forward. "I was out for breakfast, and I thought, hey, maybe Faith staked Spike. So I came by to see if you were still alive. Er..."

He spread his arms wide. "Still here," he said lazily, his deep drawl dragging the words out. "Worried I'd be gone?"

"Worried." She stepped forward gingerly, moving beside him. "I heard from Dawn that Faith might be looking to use you as a pincushion."

"Well, don't worry, all the manly goodness is still around. Though I suppose you weren't really worried about that, either." Spike managed to free a cigarette from his duster after a moment, and lit it. "I always did wonder why you hung around Xander. I guess now we all know."

Willow flushed. "I came here worried about you, and you're going to mock my friends?"

Spike scowled at her. "I didn't ask for your worry. Get out of here."

She leaned closer to him. "What did this to you?"

"Fat demon with claws. Get lost, Red."

"I have a name, you know," she said, straightening up and backing away from him. "A perfectly good one."

"Oh, right. Willow." Spike's scowl abated a little. "Look, Red, I don't mind a little company now and then, but I really need some sleep."

Willow shook her head. "I just wanted to know if Faith killed you," she repeated, walking towards the door. Spike stood, with some difficulty.

"I'd love to see her try it," he blustered. But Willow was already out the door, and didn't hear him. He breathed out a sigh of relief, flopping down onto a coffin lying there, laying on it.

There was a noise outside, a soft grunt, and his eyes widened. His body was no longer alive, so there was no flood of adrenalin, but through sheer will alone he managed to stand, drawing on wells of strength he didn't know he had.

Willow tried to get back into the crypt, through the door, but the demon holding her pulled her away from the door. "What are you doing in a graveyard in this early hour of the morning?" hissed the monster, a fairly normal looking fellow. He was tall, with jet-black hair cropped short on his head.

His eyes, however, gave him away. Soulless eyes. "Why don't you let go of the lady?" asked Spike roughly.

The demon chuckled, pulling Willow closer, wrapping one large hand around her head. As he met Spike's gaze his skin rippled, tiny scales fluttering up and down. Scales Spike hadn't realized were there, scales that immediately identified the demon.

Spike wished then that he had some weapon. A sword, a knife, anything. The demon was a particularly tough one. He wasn't sure he'd met more than three or four of them, but he knew that hard skin would be tough to penetrate. And he knew the killing strength of those arms.

Spike smiled, casually taking a drag on the cigarette in his mouth, flicking the butt aside. "Well, I see brains aren't your strong suit," said Spike, stepping forward.

"Are you William the Bloody?" asked the demon.

Willow's mouth started to form the word no, but her lips froze as she remember that it was Spike's other name. His older name.

"That's me."

"I'm here to give you a message," said the demon. He released Willow, pushing her to the ground. She fell with a grunt, and her lips began forming words quickly as the magic formed around her.

Spike ignored her. "Go ahead."

"Word is you're the new Master in this town," said the demon. "The last true Master of the Aurelius line. Feared by demons and humans alike." He glanced at Willow in disgust and kicked her, cutting her spell off in midstream. "The last true vampire of Aurelius."

"Your lot might want to check again. There are others."

The demon chuckled. "Who, Angelus? He has a soul. Drusilla? She's insane. You're the last of the lot. The last pure son."

Spike laughed out loud, putting a hand in the pocket of his duster. "You'd be better of with Dru, mate."

The demon stalked forward. "I think not. After all, she doesn't have a whole town in fear of her. You do. The time has come."

"Time, time, time!" snarled Spike. "It's always about time! Time for this, time for that! This prophecy, that prophecy, let's open a door to hell here!" He shook his head.

"It is true what they say about you, then," said the demon with a tone halfway between admiration and disgust. "You saved the world."

"Twice now, but who's counting?"

"Shut up. I am," said the demon. "You disgust me." He didn't sound entirely disgusted. There was awe mixed into his voice.

"Then why'd you hunt me out?" asked Spike, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"Because you are the best. And you can solve a little problem we have," said the demon. He leaned forward, getting right in Spike's face. "The world is ending, and we think you can stop it."

Spike laughed. "Get real." His hand came out of the pocket clenched into a fist.

The demon let out a huff of breath, steam coming out his nose. He ignored Willow, who crawled to her feet and dashed away.

"Your old friend Ozymandius is in town," said the demon.

Spike's hand opened, and the lighter fell to the ground, forgotten. Spike's eyes flashed golden as the anger threatened to overwhelm him. "You know, you could have just said that earlier," muttered Spike, bending over to retrieve the lighter. "Come on in. I need a good drink, and I bet you could too."

The demon shrugged. "It wouldn't hurt."

They sat on the couch Spike had salvaged from the dump, drinking Scotch that Spike had stolen. "What were you going to do with the lighter?" asked the demon.

Spike grunted. "Light a cig, mate. What do you think?" But his actual plan had been to set the demon on fire as a distraction, spraying him with the quickly-evaporating lighter fluid with the flame lit, trying to slow him down while heading back inside for a weapon.

"You really have sunk low," said the demon.

Spike sighed. "Give it a rest. You been gathering the forces of darkness?"

The demon grimaced. "Not nearly fast enough from what I've been hearing. Do you realize that there was a Hell God here? In Sunnydale?"

"Yeah," said Spike. "God of bad fashion, more like. Put it to me but good."

The demon grimaced, looking away from Spike. "Apparently Ozymandius found out that the old Slayer just died. He called on all the old ones, told them the time had come."

"Doesn't he know there's a new Slayer?" asked Spike.

"Not a new one," corrected the demon. "An old one. One who was turned by darkness before. She led the armies of darkness for a time. Stuff like that gives a thing like Ozymandius hope."

Spike sighed, leaning back. "I'll ask again, you been gathering the forces of darkness?"

"I have one or two," said the demon. "Clem's the one that led me to you."

"Figures. So, go call on your forces of darkness." He pulled a bottle out of his pocket, taking a long drink out of it.

"What's that?" asked the demon.

"Blood."

The demon sniffed. "That's not animal blood, is it?"

"Animal blood is weak. Won't heal me, won't make me strong. I'm going to need my strength."

* * *

Willow scrambled into Giles' house. "Giles!" She yelled.

"Good lord! I am sure I locked that door!" he said, putting down his bowl of cereal. He was dressed only in a blue terry-cloth robe.

"I know, I kinda magicked it open. There's a demon, hunting Spike! At his crypt!"

Giles sighed. "It's always something ruining breakfast, isn't it?" he grumbled, stomping into the other room. He returned in a rumpled shirt, with jeans on. Willow's eyes popped. "I keep them for hiking, thank you very much!" he said, heading out the door. He grabbed an axe on his way out. He stopped in the doorway and backtracked to the telephone. He rang the number from memory. "Peter? It's Giles. Could you get the Slayer to the cemetery. Um, the St. Augustine's cemetery, I believe. Yes, we may have a situation with a demon."

* * *

Faith was still awake, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, and she could hear Gwinn talking. She was on her feet and halfway out the door when he opened his door, joining her in the hall.

"You heard," he said blankly. He was dressed in an immaculate tweed suit, and Faith grimaced.

"Yeah, I'm gone," she said. "I know where it is."

He hesitated. "I have weapons in the car. Would it be faster to drive?"

Faith managed to hold back any jokes about the hands on type. Barely. "Fine. We'll drive. Sounds good. Faster. Right." She turned to the stairs and headed down them two at a time. Gwinn followed close behind.

As she sat down in his car she tried to fathom Gwinn. He was different than she expected, but at the same time his actions made a certain sense to her. Keeping her close, but never making it an order.

How would he try to kill her if she rebelled? She hadn't seen a gun, or any poison, or any other clue.

Gwinn didn't ask for directions, and he got them there quickly. He got out of the car and walked to the back, opening the trunk.

"Axe? Sword?" he asked, lifting the two weapons.

"Sword," said Faith. He tossed her the weapon, keeping the axe for himself, and slammed the trunk shut.

Giles ran up to them, panting for breath, Willow right behind him. "Spike's crypt," he said, pointing. He glanced at his watch, then at the lightening sky. "The timing is perfect. Spike is trapped. Whatever this is—"

The door to one of the crypts in the middle of the cemetery opened, and a man stepped out. He turned back and said something, although he was too far away to hear. He waited a moment, then walked away.

Faith could have chased him, but now she was suspicious. "You guys wait here. I'll go find out what that was all about."

Spike was leaning against the doorway when she got there, watching the sky. "Consorting with demons?" she asked. It was an ironic question, she was aware, as it was expected behavior for him, and yet she was the one who was really doing it now, talking to him.

There was a flash of twin amber pools in the darkness. "Little girls should learn not play with big sharp knives," said Spike, retreating further into the darkness.

Faith followed him. "Who was your friend?" she asked. She didn't know how long they'd have before the Watchers decided to come after her.

He shrugged. "Long story. Better told over a drink." He continued backing up, and then he vanished.

Faith blinked, her eyes adjusting to the darkness, and spotted the trapdoor he'd ducked through.

She ducked through the trapdoor and headed downward, jumping off the ladder to the floor. "Nice, a two story crypt," she said sarcastically.

Spike was leaning against the wall, not moving. Not even breathing. As her eyes adjusted further, getting used to the pitch blackness, she could see blood all over him.

"Something bad is coming," said Spike quietly. "A demon the other demons fear."

"And what would they fear? I thought you were the one they were supposed to be afraid of."

"No," said Spike. "Something worse than that, even. . A real demon, not a half-breed like me or Snake-boy."

She hesitated. "Half-breed?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "You might try listening to your Watcher when he's talking sometime. Now get lost."

She started forward, but he simply flopped onto the large bed in the middle of the room, laying there. She hesitated.

"Don't you bloody humans realize this is the middle of my sleep cycle?" he moaned, covering his head with both arms. "Just go."

She climbed the ladder, leaving without even a further comment. She had her suspicions about how he'd come to be covered with that blood, and it was a surprise. If he'd been out patrolling, he'd been out fighting the good fight.

That wasn't right at all. He was a vampire.


	6. Enemies reconsidered

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

"Apparently, it's a little piece of my past come back to haunt me," said Faith sarcastically, settling back in the chair.

"You're certain?" asked Giles.

"He said it wasn't a half-breed like him or the other demon. I'm certain." She eyed her own Watcher. "We can skip the long talk about size and strength and dangerous. Been there."

"Ah, but you weren't," said Xander. "As I recall, for the actual demon part, you were in a coma."

"Yeah, that's me. Skipping the fun parts," muttered Faith.

Why was she here? Sitting here calmly, with all the Scoobies gathered round? It was like torture. Sometime along she'd have to talk to Angel, ask him what hell was like for him. Ask him if it was like this.

She already knew this was her own personal hell.

"How did you defeat the demon last time?" asked Gwinn.

"The judicious application of enough explosives to level the school," said Giles flatly. "Did Spike say why the demon came to him?"

"No," said Faith. Which wasn't quite true. He had said enough. Enough that she knew they had come to him for help killing the demon.

Willow and Xander sat near the door, looking ready to bolt. But she was the one who felt caged and trapped.

"Can we get hold of that kind of explosives again?" asked Gwinn.

"No," said Xander with a shrug. "Even if the memories were still up to snuff—ever since the Initiative left there's been no place to steal explosives from. Big old no there."

The minute Faith had heard Spike utter the word half-breed her heart had fluttered. Not a good flutter, the kind of flutter that left your hands numb and your mind foggy. The kind of flutter that might have been a minor heart attack.

A demon like the Mayor. A demon like the closest thing to a father she'd ever had.

She'd never turned her back on the mayor. Only after he had been dead for a year had she been able to finally turn away from the path he'd helped set her on. And then only with Angel's help.

"Angel helped," she said.

"Yes, er, perhaps we could ask him for help," said Giles, nodding.

Gwinn frowned. "The vampire with the soul, correct?" It wasn't really a question so much as it was an accusation, asking them all why they were going to a monster for help.

Giles cleared his throat. "As she said, he helped us defeat just such a monster before. I don't trust him much myself, but we could use the firepower."

Faith cleared her throat. "I'd like to call him," she said, keeping her hands from curling into fists by crossing her arms. Giles gave her an odd look, one she tried to ignore.

"Very well," said Giles. "Perhaps when Spike comes by tonight he'll be more forthcoming."

* * *

Spike finished the last bottle, gulping down the searing-hot liquid. "Some courage comes in a bottle, and some is real," he muttered to his drinking companion, a tall, thin man with white hair that clung to the angular lengths of his face.

"And you don't have the real kind?" asked the demon, wiping hair out of his eyes. The scars across his face in a latticed pattern gave a slightly unreal cast to it, a grid that kept his eyes even creepier than they were normally, and the strange pallor in his cheeks spoke of death and decay.

"Sod it," grumbled Spike. "Courage is noble. Noble things are for prats with souls."

Ozymandius considered that, finishing his own cup. "And having a soul is the end-all of end-alls. Right?"

"Right." Spike's words held no heat now, as if he wasn't even paying attention.

"I though that Angelus was the vampire I would look to for competition."

Spike glanced at him. "Angelus? You mean because of the soul?"

"Of course," said Ozymandius. "Who else tries to kill other demons? Fighting the good fight. I can't believe you are."

"Of course that's why I'm here," spat Spike, grinning widely. "They don't like me, but I'm bloody useful, aren't I?"

Ozymandius reached under the table, coming up with another bottle. "It's good to see you got rid of Drusilla," he observed. "I told you she was too far gone."

Spike shook his head. "There's a Slayer in town."

"A dark slayer who's run with the devil himself," corrected Ozymandius. "I'm not exactly quaking."

"You ought to be. She's no Buffy, but she's got moves."

Ozymandius poured them both another round. "There are those in the demon world who suspect you went the way of your Grandsire."

"Let them suspect," said Spike.

"You're as much a puzzle as you were in the old days."

"I made a promise to a lady, and I really don't care what anybody else thinks of the arrangement."

Ozymandius smiled thinly. "You don't, eh? I knew you'd come as soon as you heard I was here. How could you resist the siren call of blood?" Ozymandius tapped his own neck, nodding. "As it has been, so it shall be."

Spike shook his head. "I came out here for old time's sake. To let you have a chance to give up, surrender. All that rot."

"You came out here because you knew I'd have a bottle or two waiting for you," corrected Ozymandius. "Don't mistake greed for some form of camaraderie. I can see through your kind, see right through you. You're transparent to me." He poked a finger at Spike. "You lack a spark, a divine spark that could give you meaning. Without it you can try, but all you are is a monster playing at being a man. Eventually you'll slip, your demon nature will betray you, and you'll harm those around you."

Spike snorted. "Can't hurt anyone these days. Little chip in my head."

"The wonders of modern technology," said Ozymandius dryly. "Tell me, does it hurt that the demons meant to use you? Meant for you to stop me?"

Spike laughed. "Hurts? They turned their backs on me, and when the great demon comes back, the one who makes them all atone for their sins, they run to me. They don't understand your curse--or even your heart. Don't know you're as black and damned as them!"

"You're far too observant."

Spike sniffed. "You are, too."

"I think you're right. From where I stand my curse is infinitely better, and infinitely worse, than yours. It's all a matter of perspective. I commend you on your efforts to be good enough to stay true to your vow, but you will fail. A weak moment, and you will fail. Perhaps you'll see your charge fall, and she'll stop breathing. You'll want to rush her to the emergency room, but now that she's technically dead, your chip will not stop you. The wave of bloodlust that overpowers you will drive you to her throat, and you'll suck the life out of her still-warm body."

Spike shuddered at the hypnotic power of the words. "I wouldn't. Not the Bit," he said, his voice unsure and weak.

"Go back to your crypt and ponder whose side you want to be on," said Ozymandius. His eyes, cold empty orbs flickered a faint green in the pale light, then slid closed. "I fear that when next we meet I will have to kill you."

Spike drained his glass. "We meet again in this town, somebody's going to die, but don't be so sure it's me."

* * *

Faith hung up the phone. "Angel's on the way over." She told Gwinn.

Gwinn stroked his chin with one hand. "A pure-blooded demon," he murmured. "It would be large, and possibly it would be in a form that we would not recognize—rather than being a mix of the demon and the human forms, a purely demon form."

Faith shrugged. "Ask the others about that."

"Yes, yes, a fascinating lot they are, too. The witch, the soldier, the ex- watcher—I had no idea that the last Slayer had that many resources to call on. It's no wonder she lived as long as she did."

Faith squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ignore the other man. "I'm gonna go see if Spike has shown up yet, see if he's talking."

"Ah. I suppose I should research known demons, see if there is anything known about this situation. Then, perhaps if Spike has anything of use to say, you could relay that to me, to aid in my search?"

Faith half-smiled. He was still keeping tabs on her, but less hands-on now? At any rate, it wouldn't hurt. "Yeah, sure, although the way he was earlier, I'm not sure we'll get anything from him."

Gwinn nodded. "Ah, even the most reliable of vampires would make a poor informant." He half-smiled, matching hers, and turned to his books.

Faith left in a hurry, curling her hands into fists. The Magic Box was her first stop. After that some patrolling. She had a lot of energy left over, and really didn't want to deal with her Watcher without taking some of it out on something first.

She entered the Magic Box, and was surprised to see Giles and Spike talking. She didn't know why it surprised her, but she hadn't seen them interact before, and was surprised at the civility of the conversation.

She had seen Giles talk to Angel, and that civility had never existed between the Watcher and the vampire with the soul. Maybe because, from what Faith could divine, Angel had nearly killed Giles when he lost his soul, torturing him for hours.

And then Buffy had saved him, or something. She couldn't remember. Or nobody had ever told her that part.

They stopped talking when she came in, and glanced at her. She walked towards them, but stopped suddenly about five feet away. "Phew!" she said, waving a hand under her nose. "You smell like a beer factory!"

Spike half-grinned. "Not beer, love. The good stuff. You should know the difference." He turned back to Giles. "I'm telling you, call him back! He can't be anywhere near here. Call him off, get him away!"

"You mean Angel," said Faith, easily able to do the mental arithmetic.

Spike threw his head back, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I mean the great poof! He's the last thing we need now."

"If we're going to be facing anything like the mayor again, we'll need help," said Giles.

"The mayor?" asked Spike. "What does local government have to do with demons?!"

"Quite a bit," said Faith drily, to cover her shock, and to cover her underlying fear. "As in, the last mayor was a big fat...fill in the blank, huh?"

Spike blinked. "Oh, okay. You mean that Ascension thing they were all talking about. Okay, yippee." He turned back to Giles. "This isn't like that. Well, it is, but it isn't. I've got it all under control, all right?"

Faith shook her head. "How long is it to Sunnydale?" she asked. "From LA, I mean. Since Angel set out this morning, he ought to be here...oh, any time now."

Spike's eyes widened. "You called him this morning?" he asked, his voice rising. "Oh, bloody hell!"

Faith eyed the other vampire closely, trying to remember if Angel had ever mentioned him. "Guilty conscience?"

Spike snorted. "I don't have a conscience, love. No, I'm just plain scared."

"Scared?" asked Faith.

"Oh, hi Angel, how's it going, sorry for the whole torture thing, you know, changed vampire!" said Spike sarcastically, waving his arms.

"What?" said Giles. "You tortured Angel?"

"Oh, and hey! Here we are, bonding. Over the woman you love and I was stalking. Yes sir, the old poof's gonna love that one! Assuming I live long enough to get to that part."

Faith grinned. "Oh, you have history. I respect that. Okay, tell you what." Giles gave her an alarmed glance. "You tell us all about this big bad demon coming our way, and maybe we'll call him back."

Spike frowned, his dark brows squeezing together. "Big bad demon's totally under control, okay. There's nothing to worry about."

"A name would be nice," said Faith.

Spike closed his eyes, inhaling sharply. "Of course it would. But would it mean anything at all to you? No, I think now. Rupes, get on and find the Bit. Get her to the house. I'll meet you there." He moved to head out the door, but Faith grabbed his arm.

"Or you could just tell us what's going on, since you obviously know more than you're saying!" she said, angry now.

Spike glared into her eyes. "Yeah? Screw you." He jerked his arm free of her grip.

She turned, punching him with her other hand, knocking him to the floor. "Don't mess with me, Spike," she warned him. She could see Giles backing up, and glanced at him. "Approve of my methods? Disapprove?" she asked sarcastically, although she felt a twinge in her gut that he'd backed away. Was he afraid of her?

Giles picked up a stake lying in the corner. "Spike, you're not normally so shy about introducing us to the demon underworld. What's so special about this one?"

Spike climbed unsteadily to his feet, glaring at them both. "What, don't trust me now? I'm hurt, just hurt." He rubbed a hand through his hair, leaning back against the wall. "It's just a demon! No big deal. All under control." He edged towards the door.

"I don't believe you," said Faith, stepping into his path. He gave her a hurt look.

"Come on, Rupes!" he said loudly. "The Bit has homework to do. Don't want her just standing around, nothing to do, do we?"

Giles hesitated, then strode past them and out the door. As he passed them he handed Faith the stake smoothly, slapping it into her hand.

Her hand closed around it, holding the stake, and now she was alone with the demon watching her from behind hooded eyes.

"I'm sensing a lack of trust," he said finally. "You want to know about Ozymandius? Ask your precious Angel." He walked out the door, ignoring her.

She stood there for a moment, alone. "Well, thanks for the name," she muttered finally.


	7. Fued

isclaimer: You know that guy that said I owned Buffy and Angel and everyone in the shows? He was LYING.

* * *

Spike lit the cigarette but didn't bother taking a drag on it, instead holding it at arms length.

"I got it," said a demon, stepping out of the shadows.

"You got it," repeated Spike flatly.

"Yeah, it was easy."

Spike regarded the demon, tossing down his cigarette. "You're the same guy that came and met with me before, right?" he asked.

The demon nodded. "You don't recognize me?"

"Your lot all looks alike to me," said Spike derisively. "You've gathered your forces? Ready to fight Ozymandius to the last man?"

"What few I could," said the demon. "Are you sure about this? I mean, it's a human. Can we trust it?"

"Yeah, bring him out."

The demon nodded and whistled. Spike frowned at him. "What?" said the demon.

"That whistling. That's like—never mind," Spike sighed.

"I know, I know, it's a human thing," said the demon, embarrassed. "Sorry."

Clem approached, leading a man in black robes and a handful of demons dressed in long overcoats. Several different demon races were represented here, many of them horrendously ugly. "We're here, we're here," said Clem nervously. "Are we ready?"

"We're ready," said Spike.

"No," said the scaly demon, surprised.

"Angelus is on his way over!" snarled Spike. "We've gotta get this over and done with before he gets here. Now, we're ready."

The man in the black robes nodded. "Monsters and demons and me," he said quietly.

"Shut it," said Spike roughly.

The man in the black robes watched him. "Do I make you nervous?" he asked quietly.

"Your kind always makes me nervous," growled Spike. "Let's get on with this."

They strode into the darkness.

* * *

Faith twirled the stake in her hand, watching Giles. Giles watched Gwinn, who was paging through the book. "Fascinating," said Gwinn.

"That's what I said," muttered Faith. "Exactly. To the very syllable."

Giles shot her an odd look. "Apparently the demon you met was a Kranich demon."

"A demon best known for its fear of sunlight, avoidance of humans, and apparently its disdain for other demons—there's no known cases of it ever attacking a human, except this one case where apparently the humans attacked it," Gwinn said, glancing up at Giles.

"There's more." Said Giles grimly. "Stacks and stacks of information that the Kranich demon is essentially a safe, nice demon."

Faith considered that for a moment. "It looked big and mean," she observed.

"A show," said Gwinn. "The scales that look like skin can be raised, apparently to give the appearance of increased size."

"Like a cat," reasoned Faith. Both Watchers gave her surprised glances. "What, I can't have layers? Sure, cats do that, arch their back. Give a good show."

Giles nodded, taking off his glasses and wiping them. "Gwinn, would you explain to me—explain to Faith—the position of the Council on non-lethal demons?"

"Demons are demons," replied Gwinn. "Whether they feed on cats or on humans."

"You see, Faith?" said Giles.

"And Spike?" asked Faith.

"Dangerous," said Gwinn. He glanced to Faith. "And, um, what are your thoughts?"

Faith stared at him for a long second. "I don't trust Spike," she said finally. "But whatever this threat is that's coming, we may need his help."

Giles coughed, glancing to Gwinn, who nodded. "Yes. I can see that."

"Somebody called?" said a low, powerful voice from the doorway, one that Faith knew so well. Faith turned and threw herself across the room, grabbing Angel in a hug where he stood outside the door.

"Angel!" she yelled, holding tight to him.

He returned the hug awkwardly, putting a hand on her shoulder as she released him. He stepped into the shop, glancing from Giles to Gwinn. "I assume an introduction isn't necessary. You said something about a pure demon along the lines of the mayor?"

Giles stood. "Angel," he said coolly. "Yes, we think we're up against something big. We're not sure what."

"How'd you find out about the demon?" asked Angel.

"I told them," said Spike coldly, entering the shop behind Angel. "Welcome back to Sunnyhell, poofter."

Angel's face hardened, and he whirled around in one long, clean swoop, jumping on Spike and punching him in the face. "Spike!" he hissed. "How dare you come back here?" He punched Spike again, knocking the younger vampire to his knees, and slammed a knee into Spike's stomach.

"Angel!" said Faith, surprised.

Angel slammed his fist into Spike's face again. "When'd you come back to Sunnydale, Spike? When you learned she was dead?"

"Been here all along," croaked Spike, as he rolled back against the wall, leaning back. He smirked. "How've you been, peaches? Busy playing hero?"

Angel kicked Spike in the face, snapping his head back against the wall. "What're you doing here, Spike?" he asked again.

"Helping," said Spike with a smirk. "Didn't you get the memo, peaches? I stood shoulder to shoulder with your heroes...saved lives...did good. Aren't you proud of me?"

Angel hesitated, raising his boot backwards to strike again, but glanced to Giles, who nodded. Angel's face twisted into a scowl.

"What're you playing at, Spike?" he demanded.

Spike laughed, throwing back his hand and wiping a hand across his face. "What am I playing at? That's good, that's real good." He climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Ask the Watcher, eh?"

"A government agency implanted a chip in his head rendering him unable to hurt humans," said Giles. "He's been helping us since."

Spike turned, slamming a hand into Angel's face, knocking him to the floor. "Can still hit the bad guys, though," he said thoughtfully. "Well, demons. But demons are bad guys, right?"

Angel scrambled to his feet, his eyes narrowed.

A man wearing black robes and a clerical collar stepped through the door. "Angelus," he said.

Angel turned, surprised. "Do I know you?" he asked.

The priest whipped a cross out of his robes, holding it towards Angel, who flinched backwards. Two demons entered the shop behind him, the Kranich demon and a dog-faced demon, both carrying cattle prods. They aimed them at Faith, holding them steady.

"Naw, you don't know im," said Spike. He glanced at Giles and Gwinn. "Just stay where you are, huh? Would hate for you to get hurt."

The Kranich brandished the cattle prod. "All right, Slayer, you might be able to kill one of us, or maybe even both of us, but you can't stop us before we make contact, and then you're down and out."

Clem entered the room behind Spike. "The others are outside, where you told them to stay," he said unhappily.

Spike nodded. "Get that thing from the back room," he said. Clem marched off, just a little stiffly.

Angel backed away from the cross-wielding priest. "What is this, Spike, your new gang?"

"Just a little bit of necessity," said Spike calmly. He took a baseball bat out from behind a display case.

"Hey!" said Giles, unable to help himself any longer. "That's mine!"

"I know, Watcher," said Spike. still in that too-calm voice. "Just borrowing it." He advanced on Angel, and hit him with the baseball bat, knocking him to the ground.

Faith moved forward to stop him, but the dog-faced demon swiped the cattle prod at her. It made contact, and the shock drove her down to her knees.

Spike hit Angel again, a wide grin on his face. He was clearly enjoying this chance for a little payback.

Faith glanced up, blearily, not quite unconscious. "What is this about?" she asked Spike. "Ozymandius?"

Angel's foot shot out, knocking Spike backwards, and Angel was on his feet in a second. "Ozymandius?! You lying scheming little weasel! You told them Ozymandius was a threat, didn't you?"

"I didn't say that. Just told them he's a scary demon... just about the purest of the pure-breed demons," growled Spike, adjusting his grip on the baseball bat.

"He's lying to you! Ozymandius isn't a threat--not to you! Not to humans! He's an enforcer of sorts--he goes around killing other demons."

"Voraciously," said the Kranich demon holding the cattle prod. "Especially those of us it considers offensive."

Faith shook her head. "What are you doing?" she asked Spike, rising to her feet. It occurred to her suddenly that he had allies among the demons, creatures that served him.

Spike grinned. "Well, you know, just doing what comes naturally." He turned to Gwinn. "Thought I'd come and kill you. Eh?"

Gwinn blinked. "What?"

"Oh, sure," scoffed Spike. "Blind in one eye, your right eye. White hair. You think a little think like changing shape could fool me?" He blew out his breath through pursed lips. "I'm not as dumb as you'd like me to think."

Gwinn smiled. "Oh, I wondered if you'd sniff me out, but I didn't think you'd just put the pieces together."

Faith shook her head. "What the hell are you talking about now? What about Ozymandius? What do you have against my Watcher?"

"Got nothing against your Watcher," said Spike viciously. "But that ain't your Watcher, and probably never was."

Gwinn's smile faded. "Unfortunately, yes. I met Peter Gwinn in LA, and killed him. I assumed a shape as near to his as I could, but apparently that wasn't enough."

Faith was confused now, and tried to cover it with a sneer. "So I'm guessing you're this Ozymandius, then."

"Oh, heaven's, no," said Gwinn, his skin rippling and shifting, moving. His body under the jacket seemed to swell and shrink all at once.

His cheekbones sucked inward, and his chest moved outward—not all of it, though, and Faith blinked as her Watcher turned into a woman with short white hair, and the same scar across her eye.

"I didn't put it all together at first," growled Spike. "I forgot all about you until Ozymandius showed up in town."

"I didn't realize you'd be here," said Gwinn. "Gave me quite a shock—one I covered quite well, I thought."

"Quite well," muttered Faith.

"I'm never going to trust another Watcher as long as I live," muttered Giles.

"Wait; Gwinn is in league with Ozymandius?" asked Faith.

Spike chuckled. "Oh, that's rich." He leaned towards Gwinn. "I'd be more likely to side up with Angel."

Angel growled. "Gwinn—she's the hellbeast sent after Ozymandius. The hunter."

"That's right," said Gwinn, smiling. "Here to put him back in his grave."

"So you came here to ally with this demon?" asked Faith, glancing at Spike and the demons all around her.

"Yes," said the Kranich, the scales all over his body rippling. "We will destroy the monster once and for all!"

But Faith was watching the hellbeast she had thought to be her Watcher, and she knew instantly something was very wrong with this scenario. She tensed her muscles, expecting the fight to break out, expecting to have to jump into action.

But it was Spike who moved, spinning into action, the baseball bat a blur as he struck. "Not quite," he howled, smashing the bat into Gwinn's face, knocking her to the ground. She gasped, trying to stand, and he hit her again, laying her out flat. "I was thinking more along the lines of tearing you into little bitty shreds."

Gwinn stared up at him with hate filled eyes, scrambling back away from him. "What are you doing?" she demanded. "I'm here to kill him, same as you!"

"Pay attention, love," mocked Spike. "I never said I was going to kill him." He slammed the baseball bat into her face again.

"What's going on?" demanded Faith.

"Yeah, what's going on?" asked the Kranich demon guarding her. There was panic in his voice, as he was just now realizing how out of control things were getting.

Ozymandius stepped through the door. "Well, you might call it a redemptive moment—or you could call it a murder. Whichever one works for you."

Angel gasped, taking a step back. The priest moved with him, keeping the cross in his face. "Don't try anything," warned the priest.

Ozymandius moved closer almost lazily. "What's the matter, kranichen? Angelus? Afraid to see me?"

The dog-faced demon gaped, taking a half-step back, closer to Faith, swinging his cattle prod around to point it at the demon walking in. Faith wasn't sure why they were so afraid of this musclebound old man, but she knew an opportunity when she saw it. She grabbed the demon, and his cattle prod, slashing it at the Kranich. It drove him down to his knees, and he let out a shriek, and she used the base of the prod to club the dog-faced demon, knocking him down.

Spike turned to face Faith. "You might want to leave, love," he said. "The old boy here can't hurt most people, but you've got some darkness in you, and that's how he likes em."

She hesitated, keeping the cattle prod firmly to hand, glancing over at Angel, who was watching Ozymandius through narrowed eyes.

"You've got nothing to fear, Faith," said Angel. "Not from this twisted old monster."

"I don't kill Slayers," acknowledged the demon, nodding. "Just these half-breeds. Like vampires... but, you, Angel, not you. I hadn't seen the soul in you before, but they were right. You reek of humanity now."

"Aw, too bad," said Spike. "I was kind of hoping you'd off him." He swung the bat again, knocking Gwinn down as she tried to struggle to her feet.

Faith was getting pretty angry. "Can somebody tell me what's going on before I just kill the lot of you!" she roared.

"It's strange," said Angel. "I thought this was about... It looks like Spike did the right thing, here."

Ozymandius smiled, and the scars on his face made it a ghastly parody of a smile. "Oh? How do you figure?"

Spike laughed. "These idiots thought a vampire who kills demons would be a good champion against a demon that kills demons. They sort of forgot that there might be some common ground there... you know, killing demons. I can't really blame them, of course. I had a plant in their ranks... still, it was short-sighted of them."

Ozymandius shook his head. "They know I'm bound to kill the soulless, such as Spike. They relied on it. But it didn't help them."

Ozymandius glanced to the Kranich, and waved his hand. The Kranich screamed, grabbing at his chest. There was a sizzling sound, like bacon hitting a hot stove, and he toppled over. "You're not worth the breath I would take to spit on you," said Ozymandius with contempt.

Spike took a knife out of his belt and knelt over Gwinn. "The neck-bone's connected to the head-bone," he sang, sawing at her neck.

Ozymandius smiled, gesturing at the dog-faced demon. It howled, writhing on the floor for a moment. "Now," said Ozymandius. "I finished the demons outside, but one more came in here. Into the back room. He's mine.

Spike whirled, throwing the knife. It stuck through Ozymandius' wrist, and the tall scarred man cried out in pain. "I said no!" growled Spike.

"He is mine!" insisted the tall demon, pulling the knife out of his wrist.

Spike jumped forward, attempting to tackle Ozymandius, who caught him easily with his other hand. "You fool," said the tall demon coldly. "I'll have him, no matter what you want to do!"

Spike tried to kick him, so Ozymandius threw him to the floor. He glanced to the priest, who was still holding Angel in check with his cross. "And what are you, then, man or demon?" he asked, waving a hand at the priest. It didn't affect the man, who smiled back at Ozymandius.

"I've been many things, but I'm only here as a favor," he said.

Spike was on his feet again, trying to attack Ozymandius. "He's a mercenary, not a priest!" he yelled, slamming a fist into Ozymandius' face. The big demon didn't seem to notice the attack, pushing Spike to the ground again.

"Ah, why are you doing this?" asked Ozymandius, tossing down Spike's knife. "You know I can beat you. Any day of the week."

"I told you, that one's my friend, and he's totally off limits!" growled Spike.

Ozymandius shook his head. "He's a demon! I kill those, remember?"

"Spike's a demon," observed Angel, snatching the cross out of the priest's hand and throwing it to the floor.

"That's different," said Ozymandius with a sniff. "He reeks of humanity."

"Yeah? Not what you said the first time we crossed paths!" pointed out Spike, struggling back to his feet again.

"Mm, yeah," said Ozymandius, picking Spike up and throwing him through the window, leaping after him.

The priest watched Angel. "All right, Angelus," he said. "Are we done this dance? No hard feelings?"

Angel shook his head, stepping around the mercenary dressed as a priest. "I meet you again, we're having words."

Faith followed Angel, heading after Spike and Ozymandius. After a minute the mercenary followed them, turning aside at the door and heading the opposite direction.

They left Giles standing there over the remains of three demons, one of whom he had thought to be a Watcher a short time ago. He frowned down at the body, still thinking very hard about who was on whose side, and what Spike was up to.

Then he realized he'd been left with the cleanup, and he sighed. "The more things change, the more they stay the same."


	8. Explanations in a cemetery

Disclaimer: I own NOTHING.

* * *

Faith jogged forward, catching up with them in a cemetery. A demon and a vampire, in a cemetery. It seemed ironic--assuming she really understood what that word meant.

Ozymandius was sitting on a gravestone, and Spike was leaning against a crypt opposite him. They were talking. Calmly. Or, mostly calmly. "I'm just saying, it was bloody rude!" said Spike.

"Oh, and you had a better idea?"

"I don't like being thrown through walls!"

Faith cleared her throat. "What's going on?" she demanded. She could hear Angel closing in behind her, but she had outrun him. She was a little surprised by that--didn't he have that vampire speed on his side?

Spike rolled his eyes. "What's going on? Bit late to ask that now, isn't it?" He glanced to Ozymandius. "Well, what's your game?"

Ozymandius hesitated. "Rummy?"

"That's a little girl's game, mate," sneered Spike.

"Poker?"

Spike shook his head. "And you, pet?" He glanced to Faith. "What's your game?"

She stared at him. "Russian roulette," she told him darkly. "What's going on?"

"I came here when I heard the last Slayer had died," said Ozymandius. "It was a perfect opportunity to finally finish up some unfinished business."

"Unfinished business!" snorted Spike.

"I knew that Spike would come to me. Although the demons thought him there best tool to fight me, they were wrong, of course. Since they couldn't realize that we've danced before."

"Done it properly, too, none of this sneaking around," complained Spike.

"He won, too," added Ozymandius, staring at Faith in a way that creeped her out entirely. "Drank of my blood."

"And let you live?" asked Faith.

"Sort of," said Spike. He glanced at Ozymandius. "Drained him dry, but a demon isn't that easy to kill, is he, mate?"

"No," replied Ozymandius. "I was curious to see if Spike would help me—if he wouldn't, I would have had to kill him."

"You would have had to try, mate," said Spike. "But I agreed to help you kill that little vixen, didn't I?"

"My Watcher," said Faith.

"The demon who killed your Watcher. Don't get confused," said Spike. "Russian roulette? We don't have any guns."

Ozymandius sighed. "Maybe I should get a gun. I hear they can be fun."

Faith shook her head. "You guys are insane!"

They both looked at her oddly. "We're demons, pet," said Spike. "Not insane."

"Just not human," added Ozymandius. "Trying to box our minds into your little boxes of prejudice and perception is just—well, it's xenophobic."

"Demons are evil," said Fatih.

"Well, yeah, that doesn't mean we can't be complex," said Ozymandius.

Faith sighed. "All right, care to explain that whole little scene back there? You wanted to kill the hell-hound, so you needed Spike?"

"Well, she could have killed me," replied Ozymandius. "That was her purpose in life."

"It was pretty smooth of her, pretending not to recognize me, but she slipped up a couple of times," Spike added quickly.

Ozymandius sighed. "I wish we could have done it another way—but I can't kill other pure demons, and she knew that."

Angel came jogging up, panting for breath that he didn't need. "What's...what's going on?" he asked. "Why isn't there...fighting? And, and hitting?"

"That's what I wanted to know," said Faith. Was Angel out of shape? That seemed impossible. Unless, of course, he had gone back to his car, grabbed more weapons, and had to run twice as far as she had. She eyed his coat pockets, which were bulging with something, and decided he had gone for weapons.

Spike pushed away from the crypt, and Ozymandius hopped down from the gravestone. Spike put an arm over Ozymandius' shoulders. "It was a setup, mate," he said smugly. "Me an Ozzy here are best friends." He seemed very happy to have put one over on Angel, and probably even happier he'd got to hit the Champion.

"Call me Ozzy again and we won't be," said Ozymandius mildly.

"You say that every time I call you that," scoffed Spike.

"If you must shorten my name, I much preferred Dius. That's what Drusilla called me."

Angel caught up fairly quickly. Unlike Faith, he didn't seem entirely surprised by the revelation that Spike had met the demon before. "I'm surprised you let the two of them live; you're rumored to be very hard on vampires," said Angel.

Ozymandius nodded. "We met in Vienna—not quite forty years ago, is it?"

"A little more than, I thought," said Spike, removing his arm.

Faith cut in. "Spike beat him before!" she hissed.

Angel started forward. "Look, I've had about enough of this," he said shortly. "I don't know what evil plan you're cooking up here, Spike, but I can't believe you've tricked everybody here. Can't believe you tricked Buffy!"

"Yeah, I can't believe I fooled me, either," muttered Spike.

"I'm serious, Spike. You seem to have done--I can't believe I'm saying this--you seem to have done the right thing tonight, but you and I both know you're up to something here."

"I mean it, wanker!" snarled Spike. "I stood shoulder to shoulder with your precious Slayer to fight a Hellgod! Been here years, now."

Angel stared. "Oh my god," he said slowly, breathing the words out.

"Nearly saved her, too," said Spike. "I had him right there on that stupid stairway. I had him! If I could have got him—but he beat me. The stupid demon beat me!" He sniffed, turned his head and surreptitiously wiping at his eyes. "So she died. Threw herself off the bloody tower."

"She never mentioned you. Never said you were here," said Angel.

"A year and a half," admitted Spike. "Or so. I got here, I've been here. Ever since I got the chip in my head." He tapped the side of his head. "Ever since the big bad was turned into the big baby."

Angel advanced forward. "You've been here all this time..."

"Been helping!" protested Spike. "Well, mostly. Except for the evil parts. Ask Xander! I saved his life, plenty!"

Angel shook his head. "What kind of psycho twilight-zone have I landed in?"

Spike smirked. "That's what I said."

Angel shook his head. "This is disturbing. A good Spike?"

"Hey, I resent that!" said Spike. "I'm still good and evil!" He grinned. "I killed a kitten and ate it just yesterday! And I drank human blood stolen from the blood bank!" He grinned broadly. "Yeah, I did evil yesterday!" he said proudly.

"I've done more evil things than that while trying to be good."

Spike's eyes flashed golden in the darkness. "Yeah, you try being evil with a bloody chip in your head! It's not easy!"

"I thought you were helping?" asked Faith.

Spike's expression was one of consternation for a long moment as his desire to be accepted warred with his demonic urges.

The demon won, of course.

"I'm evil!" he yelled. "I mean, sure, I was helping the forces of goodness, fought a hellgod, stopped another apocalypse—but I was killing puppies while I did it! Hated every second of it! Yeah!"

Even Spike was aware at this point that his ranting was just making him look worse, and he trailed off.

Angel gave him an odd look. "You helped stop another Apocalypse?"

"Well, Buffy did the hard work. You know, dying," said Spike darkly. Angel winced. "I nearly saved her."

Angel shook his head. "You tried to save Buffy? What happened to the whole sworn enemies thing?"

Spike shrugged. "You know, uh, the world was ending, and, uh..." He trailed off under Angel's skeptical look. "Um, Buffy's little sister was in danger, and, um..." He trailed off again. "Hellgod! The hellgod tortured me, and I was just getting some revenge, yeah!" He was pleased with this lie; it sounded believable.

"He was in love with Buffy," said Faith. She was aware this was going to cause problems, but at this point she'd been feeling one step behind everybody here all night. If she could screw around with them and cause trouble, that helped a little bit, at least.

Angel's eyes widened, and his hands curled into fists. "What?" he asked, his voice low and controlled. Very controlled. Almost as if Angel was afraid that if he didn't keep his voice controlled he'd lose control and attack Spike.

Spike's eyes narrowed. "Gee, thanks," he said snidely. "Now, mate. I never laid a hand on her—!" He stopped, thinking about that for a second. "Hm. Well, except for Red's little spell, but that was before I realized I loved her, so it doesn't really count, does it?"

"Red's spell—Willow cast a spell?" asked Angel. "What does that have to do with you loving her?"

"Yeah. Her will be done, or something. And Buffy and I were engaged."

"Oh sweet mother of –!" Angel started forward, ready for a fight, but Faith cut him off, edging towards Spike and Ozymandius.

"So, what about the whole stalking thing?" she asked. Yeah, this was going to be an epic smackdown. She was going to enjoy seeing the too-smug Spike get his for a change.

"I followed her!" said Spike edgily. "Okay? I mean, I never—well, I did. There was that time that I did. But I offered to stake Dru for her!"

Angel felt a shock run through his body. "YOU offered to stake Drusilla?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I did!" snarled Spike, his face contorting in rage. "And she bloody turned me down!" He turned away, then turned back, pointing at Angel. "I blame you!"

"What?" said Angel, surprised.

"You hurt her," said Spike, crossing his arms. "That's why she had trouble letting men into her life. Screwed up her romance with Riley, and meant she never gave me a chance."

"Spike," said Angel. "You're a vampire. A soulless monster of the night she's sworn to destroy." He shrugged. "You think it was her intimacy issues that kept you apart?"

Spike hesitated, then scowled. "You!" he repeated, yelling it. "You hurt her! I mean, you claimed to love her, but you hurt her!"

Angel cleared his throat, crossing his own arms. He glanced at Faith, who was watching the two of them with a slightly odd look on her face.

"It was for the best," said Angel quietly. "Now, can we get back to the part where you were STALKING BUFFY?"

"NO!" screamed Spike. "You, you ponce!" He turned away, and his shoulders were shaking up and down. It took Angel a minute to realize that Spike was crying, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably with the realization, glancing to Faith, who was frowning.

"So now what?" asked Faith. Spike sniffed, turning back around.

"I got me a promise to keep," he said. "The Bit is waiting for me." He reached out, putting a hand on Ozymandius' shoulder. "Keep up the good work."

Ozymandius shook his head. "I'm not as easily dismissed as that," he said. "We will play."

Spike sighed. "Come on, then. I've got an up and coming rummy champ to introduce you to."

Faith frowned. "You're taking him to go play cards with the kid sister?"

Spike shrugged. "She beats me nine times out of ten. Time she played a real player."

"Spike's no good at cards," noted Angel. "Unless he cheats."

Spike snorted. "Come on, you haven't seen me play cards in a hundred years!" he protested.

"Too impatient," added Angel.

Spike snorted and walked away, leading the scarred demon. Angel watched them go. "That was... odd. I'm pretty sure I came out here to kill him, and I'm just watching him leave."

"Tell me about it," sighed Faith. "It's like the Twilight Zone. The other day I thought he was up to something and I hit him—Dawn went nuts. I thought she was going to try to hit me. And he was all, 'do your homework, kid.'"

Angel shook his head. "This is trouble," he said firmly.

Faith nodded gratefully. "Are you going to stay around a while?" she asked.

"I guess I'd better. I—my first instinct is to get him out of here. He's dangerous. But if he's helping..." Angel sighed. "I don't know what to think."

"Welcome to my world," said Faith.

* * *

"Okay, five card stud, aces wild, skies the limit. Ante up," said Dawn cheerfully.

Ozymandius threw a dollar bill onto the table. "Are you sure you're not cheating?" he asked her gravely.

She laughed. "Cheating is for if you're Spike, and can't win any other way. Speaking of which, you gonna ante up?"

Spike searched his pockets. "I don't suppose you'd let me play on credit?" he asked.

"Nope." Said Dawn cheerfully. "What about cigs? I'd let him play for cigs."

"Cigarettes? I suppose," said Ozymandius. "And no cheating, Spike, or I'll brain you. Literally."

Spike sighed, dropping a half-full pack of cigarettes on the table. "Poker's a good game for me," he said, exasperated. "I don't need to cheat."

"That's because Angel was right. Most games cannot hold your attention long enough," observed Ozymandius. "A faster-paced game is best for you. Your long game is... spotty."

Dawn sighed again. "Angel..." she said, glancing to the window pensively. "I can't believe he came back."

"He'll be leaving again soon enough," said Spike, and if he had been any madder he could have melted the cards in his hands by staring at them.

"I mean, when he left...I have all these memories," said Dawn. She glanced at Ozymandius. "Not all good memories, but not all bad, you know..."

Spike slammed his fist down on the table. "He'll be leaving soon enough!" he yelled.

Ozymandius raised a thoughtful eyebrow. "Not soon enough, it seems," he said. "I bid five dollars."

"I told you once already, bet," replied Dawn. "I'll see you and raise... Spike?"

But Spike's limited attention span wasn't on the game at all. "Soon enough..."


	9. The creamy center

Disclaimer: The usual. Being me, and not Joss, I don't get to own his toys. I do get to borrow them...and play with them...

* * *

Angel was bad.

This was a well-known, little-disputed fact.

He terrorized the demon world. People feared him.

He was a vampire with a soul. And over a hundred years of experience.

Now, if the demons would just stop laughing...

Angel glanced around the demon bar again. "Should I repeat the question?" he asked dangerously. The more sober patrons recognized the impending carnage, and began quietly sneaking out.

The drunkest one, a vampire, snorted. "Spike? Evil plans? That puppy!" he laughed louder. "He's a puppy! The Slayer's big dopey puppy!"

"He's outside," said Angel.

The drunk vampire sobered up instantly. "Really?"

"No," said Angel, sighing. That reaction had told him everything he wanted to ask, and then some. They were laughing at Spike, calling him a puppy, but they were afraid, deep down, of him.

That was usually how they treated Angel.

"Yeah, that Childe of mine," Angel chuckled.

"Childe? I thought Drusilla sired Spike?" asked the vampire, completely clueless.

"Well, yeah," said Angel, shifting to game face. "But who made him the vampire he is today?" He felt an inward cringe as he said it, the guilt welling up. He'd created that monster.

The vampire in front of him put two and two together instantly. "You're Angelus!" he said happily.

"Close," said Angel, producing a stake. "Now, this won't hurt a bit."

But it did.

* * *

Faith entered the magic box, looking for Giles, and found only the demon and the priest, sitting behind the counter.

She approached them, but they were concentrating. She stood there and watched them playing chess for a few minutes. "Now, what was that?!" she asked, suddenly furious.

"Uh, that's the old, whaddaya call it, Clem?" said the priest.

"End Peasant?" asked the wrinkled demon, shrugging.

"En passant! Exactly!" the wiry priest agreed. There was something in his voice that Faith didn't trust, although she wasn't sure exactly why not.

Faith shook her head. "Pawns only move forward. They don't go back and sideways!"

"It's a special move," said Clem. "They can only do it if you go by them—if you think they're not dangerous. If you discount them. Forget that pawns do have teeth."

* * *

Spike moved forward, holding the nightstick backwards, the meaty part outward, like a sword. Dawn met it with her own nightstick.

"Always deflect," Spike instructed. "Never try to just stop it. The enemy is always stronger. That's what you have to beat. Superior strength. Deflect."

Dawn turned hers, sliding the length of Spike's nightstick away. "Got it," she said. "Can we do this for real now?"

Spike shook his head. "Chip, remember? I can't actually throw shots. Or block yours."

Dawn frowned. "I don't see the problem," she said, biting her cheek to keep from giggling.

"Impudent rascal!" growled Spike, moving past her, moving faster than she could block, touching the side of her head with his stick. "The day I let you beat me up is the day you wake up on fire."

"That threat just doesn't make sense," sighed Dawn. "Why do you keep using it?"

"Some day you'll figure it out," maintained Spike. "Now, how do you attack?"

"Outside strokes," sighed Dawn. "Out to in, out to in, blah di dah blah!"

* * *

Willow yawned, stumbling through the early morning sunlight towards the mailbox. She grabbed the mail out of the box and headed back inside. She opened the door to reveal Angel, standing inside in the shadows.

"Why haven't you cursed Spike?" wondered Angel.

Willow tripped backwards, falling to land on the ground, staring at him. "Eep," she said finally.

Angel stood there, watching as she gathered the mail and came inside. "You cursed me with a soul," he said reasonably. "So logically you must be able to curse Spike."

"We sort of need him right now," said Willow, sitting down at the kitchen table, dropping the mail in front of her. She absently rubbed dirt off the envelopes. "You were kind of out of it for almost a hundred years after getting your soul—we didn't really have time for that."

"Time?" wondered Angel. "You didn't have time..."

"We needed his help now. And before...we needed his help. And before...well, we just didn't care. Why would we want to do that? I mean, he was harmless." Willow shook her head. "Why would we give him a soul?"

Angel shook his head. "He's helping you," he said plaintively. "That's not right, and you know it!"

"I do," admitted Willow. "But we need his help so much, Angel!" She swallowed, watching the vampire as he slid from one shadow to another. "I don't know what we'd do without him," she admitted. "He helped us. Even before she died, he helped us. He tried to save Dawn, tried to ..." She trailed off in fear at the look on Angel's face.

"He's evil," said Angel firmly. For a shade of gray himself, Willow pondered, he was certainly making this very black and white. "Evil, without conscience, without a soul."

He left.

* * *

Spike sighed as he settled down onto his bed. At least today Red wasn't lurking in his crypt. That would have been bad.

It really bothered him that Angel was here. He'd hated Angel for longer than he could remember—first, when he was Angelus, then later, when he'd gained a soul. A soul, for crying out loud!

The big ponce.

Spike sighed, wrapping his arms around his head. Ozymandius was right; he longed for human blood. For the hunt, for the chase. So much that sometimes he thought he would explode.

And the Happy Meals on legs just continued to let him in. He was amazed at that. Didn't they realize that every time he looked at them he imagined biting them? Didn't they know that in an instant, given the chance, he'd drain them drier than the Sahara?

They knew. And they were waiting for him to try. They were waiting with stakes and crossbows for him to try.

They were waiting for him to screw up.

And then they'd kill him.

Did it matter that he'd done good?

He rolled over onto his back, groaning. Any good he'd done he had followed up with something twisted. Like saving Ozymandius.

Should he have told them why the hellhound was after Ozymandius? No, he thought not. Just because she was sort of a force for good—sort of—in a very convoluted way!—didn't change anything.

* * *

"Well?" Ozymandius asked, irritated.

"I won't know till I get a blood sample from the vampire," replied his companion. She glared at him. "Couldn't you have cut him, taken some blood?"

"He was already suspicious enough of me," said the demon, sitting down on the large bed dominating the small room. "But do you think he'll do?"

The girl stood, watching him with an inscrutable gaze. "Now that she's not after us any more, we have plenty of time to find out."

"Yeah," said Ozymandius, grinning.

"Doesn't it scare you?" the girl asked. "She's a hell hound—one of the most dangerous creatures on this earth—and he took her apart. Easily."

Ozymandius snorted. "Don't tell me you've underestimated William the Bloody."

"I may have," admitted the girl. "And what about his Sire? Angel? The Vampire with the soul?"

"Technically, his Grand-Sire," replied Ozymandius.

The girl frowned. "Don't tell me about vampires, Ozzy. I know vampires. He's a Sire; an elder of the bloodline. They call them Sires, not Grand- Sires. Grand-Sire is redundant. Look, he's trouble, okay? Word is that he's made major waves in LA."

"Doesn't matter," said Ozymandius. "Just tell me what I want to hear."

"I think William the Bloody is everything I need for this," she replied. "Everything we need to free you from the curse and let you get back to killing the people you want dead, not just the evil ones."

Ozymandius smirked, touching his face. "He thought was clever, didn't he? Binding me to only kill those that deserved death. Well, as soon as I'm free I'll hunt him down and tear him to pieces."

"Yeah," said the girl, making a disgusted face. "I'm still worried about William the Bloody. He's too much a white hat to go along with this plan, and too powerful for us to simply force into this."

"He's stupid," said the demon flatly, rising. "I'll get him to do what I want."

The girl shook her head. "And where did he come up with a priest, anyway?"

* * *

Clem watched the mercenary closely as he finished taking off the priestly robes. "I thought that went well," he said tentatively.

The priest grunted. "Well enough."

Clem coughed. "And my end of the deal?"

"The deed is done," said the priest. "The slate is clean, as far as I'm concerned. I just wish you'd warned me that I'd be dealing with a vampire with a soul! I thought all I had to worry about was a Slayer."

Clem shrugged. "It was a bit of a surprise. I thought you did pretty well."

"Well, it was a risk," said the priest. "Anyway, I thought it turned out all right."

"I'm grateful. Somebody like this Ozymandius, he's scary. Kills demons, you know. We were all scared—it would have been a massacre. But we appeased him. Let him have the demons who wanted to try to kill him."

The priest shook his head. "He's not appeased," he said.

"What?"

"The demon came here for something else," mused the priest.

"Are you going to start any trouble?" asked Clem, eyeing the large battleaxe shaped like a crucifix dangling from the priest's back.

The mercenary, whose years as a priest had ended with excommunication, chuckled. "Don't worry, Clem. I'm just here for the ride." It wasn't entirely true. He was here because he could sense the many powers rising here. There was going to be a lot of magical energy loose around here, and he wanted a piece of the pie.

* * *

Faith wandered the cemetery, moving from gravestone to gravestone in the bright light of day. She read the names, looking.

She found the two Summers next to each other. Joyce's plot had fresh flowers on it, while there were no flowers on Buffy's grave. Only a ring. An odd silver ring with a skull engraved on it, placed on top of the head stone.

She looked at them, blinking, and then turned away. "Part and parcel of the Slayer deal," she said angrily, looking around the cemetery.

She approached Spike's crypt slowly, wondering if it was a good idea to be here. But for some reason she just couldn't stay away.

He fascinated her. At a bone-deep level, she just could not stay away.

She ignored that, and opened the door. Introspection was for other people. "You home?" she asked loudly, stepping inside. She heard a groan, and he flopped over on the coffin to face her, dead eyes in a dead face with more life than most people.

"What do you want?" he asked her.

She shrugged. "Something seemed off about that whole scene with Ozymandius," she said. "When you touched him."

"Of course it felt off. The ponce was there," he grumbled, rolling over.

She moved closer. "So you hate him," she noted.

Spike rolled over. "Everything. He gets everything," he said derisively. "He got Dru. Without even trying, he got Dru. And Buffy. He got Buffy. Didn't even have to try very hard. And then he just walked away—I could never walk away. Can you imagine?"

"Yeah," muttered Faith. "I can imagine."

Spike ignored her, sitting up. "I mean, come on! She needed someone. She needed me, that's who she needed. I could have helped!" He slammed a hand down on the coffin he was lying on, smashing the cover. He stared down at it for a moment. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice so quiet she almost didn't hear him.

She moved closer, looking at the clothes he had been sleeping in. The long leather duster, the black tee. Tight black jeans. Clothes for a freak; clothes for a man who could wear them and exude a sense of power.

His eyelids wavered, and he lay back. "I'm tired," he complained. "Go bother someone else."

"We dress a lot alike," said Faith, sitting on the edge of the sarcophagus beside him. He grunted. "Is that all we have in common?"

"Hey, what—?"

She leaned forward, inhaling. He smelled faintly of cigarettes, and strongly of liquor. She grabbed one shoulder, holding him down, and kissed him.

He responded grudgingly, then put a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her back. He winced with pain as he did so, but held her at arm's length. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'd think that was obvious," she said, shedding her jacket smoothly, wiggling onto the sarcophagus, swinging her legs up and straddling him.

Spike shoved her again, this time knocking her off the coffin and onto the floor. He grabbed his head in pain, scowling at her. "Get out," he said, getting up in a half crouch.

She stared at him, surprised. "What?" she said. She wasn't used to being rebuffed--ever.

He hopped off the coffin, setting his shoulders back and straightening his back. "Get out of my crypt!" he snarled.

"Why?" she asked. Anger was quickly replacing confusion.

He hesitated for a long second. "Because I made a promise, and you're not Buffy," he growled. "You think you can steal her pet vampire like that? You sick little bint!" He moved to slap her and cried out, clutching his skull. "Ah!" he grunted, cradling his head in his hands.

She would have hit him if he hadn't inflicted that hurt, if he hadn't looked down and away like a child. She retreated, practically running to get out, but stopped at the door, glancing back at him. He sat down wearily on his crypt, watching her warily.

She grabbed his chair, hoisting the huge armchair easily, and flung it at him. It smashed into him, throwing him back against the wall, knocking him to the ground and pinning him to the floor.

She stalked the rest of the way out in a hurry, ignoring the cold feeling of the open air on the tear tracks running down her face.


	10. Child revealed

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

Spike lay under the chair, resting his exhausted limbs. He could easily move it, but he couldn't beat the inertia holding him pinned to the ground.

He felt sick, and cold.

Once he'd felt warm. He'd felt his heart warming him, even though it was cold and dead. He'd felt alive.

Every time he'd looked upon Buffy, he'd felt warm and alive and vibrant and whole.

Now he just felt sick. Sick, lost, and afraid.

He'd wanted Faith. Badly.

He'd broken his promise, already. Buffy had been right about him. He was a soulless, unfaithful thing.

He lifted the chair easily, collapsing into it as he set it down. It broke, giving slightly under his weight, but he didn't care.

* * *

Faith was angry.

To prove it, she kicked a fire hydrant, breaking it off and spraying the neighborhood with brownish water.

She walked through the haze of water with a sullen expression, ignoring the water soaking her.

He'd rejected her. That had never happened to her before—except for Angel. And Angel had been a surprise too.

And she hadn't just wanted him. That was a surprise to her. She'd wanted to be close to him, to really find out what he was thinking. She'd wanted to be close to him.

Which just made his rejection hurt all the more.

This wasn't right. This wasn't her. It was weak, and soft, and so very, cold.

She wrapped the leather coat tighter around herself. Her hair stuck to her face, half-blinding her, but it was daylight. She ignored it, walking on.

* * *

"Blood is calling," said a low voice in Ozymandius' ear. He jerked, his eyes snapping open, his mind coming to full alertness instantly. He looked around the tiny hotel room expectantly.

The woman backed away from him. She'd changed into a long battered cloth duster, and her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in a bob. She grinned at him, dancing from one foot to the other.

"Blood?" he asked sleepily.

"The vampire is asleep," she said. "Isn't it time we found out?"

Ozymandius hesitated. "He's dangerous," he said, although it damaged his pride immensely to admit it. "I'd rather use guile than stealth."

"I have to know!" whined the girl. "I have to know now!"

Ozymandius wiped a hand over the pattern of scars on his face. "I forget, sometimes, how much like your mother you are," he muttered.

She frowned, not liking to be reminded of her parents. "Impulsive and stupid?" she asked.

"More impulsive," he said. "We can't do this in daylight. He'll be sleeping, and if we awakened him, he'd know. Tonight. We'll wait till tonight." He picked up a stake. "And just in case..."

She squinted her eyes at him, the green pupils darkening. "You don't think he's the one."

"I don't think a soulless vampire is going to be my salvation. Such a thing is impossible."

"Almost impossible," she corrected. "And besides, the soul doesn't matter. It's not purity we need, it's balance."

Ozymandius grunted. "Better safe than sorry. Besides, this is Spike. He beat me once before—drained me dry. Did I mention how painful that was?"

* * *

"Well, here's Peter Gwinn," said the Watcher, staring down into the shallow grave. "Just like Rupert said."

His companion nodded. "A shame, really. He might have helped the girl."

"Now what?" asked the Watcher.

His companion turned, scanning the trees around them. "Now we have to go to Sunnydale and find our rogue Slayer."

"Do you think we can trust Giles?"

"I know Giles, a little bit," said his companion. "Met him back in the day. He has more field time logged than anybody else. His Slayer lasted five years—I'd say he knows what he's talking about."

The Watcher shook his head. "This is crazy—a Watcher, dead. Just like that. Why?"

"Because whatever killed him knew that this Slayer would draw Ozymandius."

"What?"

"Did you read Rupert's report?"

"No."

"You should have."

* * *

Spike straggled into the Magic Box after dark, and found Giles there with Dawn and the witches. Dawn stared at his face. "Spike!" she said, more exasperated than surprised.

"Got in a little fight," he said, waving off her concern and wondering just what he looked like. If he'd had a reflection, he could have cleaned up. But he didn't, so he hadn't.

Faith entered through the other door. She glared at Spike, an angry, smoldering glare. "I'm going patrolling," she announced.

Giles glanced at her, surprised. "Oh, um, take Spike," he said.

"No," said Spike, moving towards Dawn.

Faith marched out the door without a word.

"Is the council sending another Watcher?" asked Spike.

"Yes. Two," replied Giles, wishing he didn't have to confide these details. Wishing he could avoid giving so much away to a vampire.

"Why two?"

"Because, well, they've already lost three of Faith's Watchers." Giles frowned slightly. "They're apparently trying to keep her from making a record."

Spike laughed.

* * *

It was after midnight when she found Spike, fighting a fledgling vampire in a larger cemetery. She stalked closer, intending to steal the kill, but Spike managed to stake the vampire before she got there.

He fell to his knees in the dust, just kneeling there, hanging his head. "Come back to take another shot at me?" he asked, and she gave a little jump, wrinkling her nose as she realized he'd smelled her.

She stood watching him, fingering the stake in her pocket. "You've been busy," she noted, studying the cemetery.

"Somebody has to," he sniped back. "You don't seem so busy now."

She moved closer. "Or am I?" she asked. "I see a vampire now. If I stake him, who'll complain?" It was back to the same old dance, but after being rejected by him she felt more hostile to him than she had when she thought he was evil.

"You think you could stake me?" He stood so smoothly that for a moment she thought it was some of Willow's magic, the smooth ripple bringing him to his feet, and pinning those laser-blue eyes on her.

Her mouth went dry. "You think you could stop me?" she asked hungrily. She wanted this very badly. She ached with the need to explode. To fight him.

Or something.

He moved then, advancing on her with a brisk stride. "Are you ready?" he demanded. "You think you can take me?"

She swung, and he blocked, a light block, one that caused no jolt of pain as the inside of her wrist hit his arm. She knew it was only so that his chip wouldn't fire, only so that he wouldn't feel pain, but it felt like a caress.

Then she smashed her other hand into his face, knocking him back. Then she hit him again, knocking him back against a mausoleum.

Then she kicked him in the stomach, doubling him over, and grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head.

"You think you're all that, Spike?" she asked contemptuously.

He grabbed the back of head and kissed her, hard. She held on to his head, holding him in the rough embrace, and pushed him back against the crypt, holding him tightly. Her teeth rasped roughly against his skin.

She heard a low chuckle behind her, and spun around, the stake coming up again. She could taste blood in her mouth, Spike's blood.

Ozymandius stood facing them, his arms crossed. His face, a latticework of scars, seemed paler than usual in the moonlight. "Well, you seem to have gotten over your addiction to the last Slayer and moved on to another one fairly fast," he said. His eyes dipped to Faith's lips.

She moved to reply, but a hand on her arm restrained her. "I thought you were leaving," said Spike evenly, but Faith heard steel under his voice, and a confirmation of the suspicion she'd shown earlier. These two acted chummy, but something was off in the way they talked. Some edge that she didn't understand.

From the look on the demon's face, he hadn't realized Spike was aware of this. "I thought I'd just –" the demon started to reply, then frowned, cutting himself off.

Spike grinned, leaning down and recovering the stake he'd used earlier, dropping it into the duster's pocket. "What, come around and look me up? Say goodbye?"

"When did you wear the Gem of Amarra?" asked Ozymandius, puzzled.

Spike laughed. "Long, long time ago, mate."

Ozymandius shook his head. "Why—why is it that you can jam my senses? My empathy, my precognition—it shouldn't be possible!"

Spike shrugged. "I dunno. Vampire thing?"

"Vampires are easily understood and controlled. You are neither!" snarled Ozymandius. "I thought I understood you, but this...!"

"But what?" said Faith.

"He's getting a little glimpse inside me, pet," said Spike, leaning against the mausoleum and wiping blood off his face from his split lip. "Drusilla could read me like a book, but I've been a closed book for Ozzy here. See, that's how he did his mojo to those other demons, earlier. He can get inside things, burrow right into their hearts and burn em from the inside out. He didn't try to get in me before, so he didn't realize he couldn't."

Ozymandius shook his head. "It's my blood, isn't it?"

Spike chuckled, shrugging again. "Dunno, mate. The whole mind thing is really not my gig. Maybe you could talk to my crazy ex about it."

Faith eyed Spike, then turned her attention to Ozymandius. "You're working the mojo thing, huh?" she asked the demon.

Ozymandius sighed, pulling a stake out. "I had hoped we could do this the easy way," he said mournfully.

Spike leaned back further, pressing himself to the crypt. "I thought you owed me one?"

"I owe me far more than I owe you," said Ozymandius, moving forward aggressively.

Faith spun into action, dropping to the ground in a crouch and spinning, the back of her leg sweeping his feet out from under him. As he went down she rolled, slamming the stake into his chest. He howled in pain, giving a tremendous jerk.

She rolled backwards, coming to her feet. He yanked the stake out of his chest, twisting and rising ungracefully. She hadn't thought the stake would stop him for long, but had hoped it would slow him down a little more than that.

Spike leapt forward, slamming his whole body into Ozymandius. As they went down Spike twisted, spinning, landing on his feet and punching Ozymandius.

Faith shot forward, joining in with a fury. Their fists flew as they beat the demon down.

A single fist shot out, catching Faith in the side and sending her flying. Then Ozymandius hit Spike, a downward blow that collapsed the vampire to the ground.

"Now," he said calmly, wiping his lip where a line of blood and drool had flung itself when Faith had hit him in the face.

The air beside him shimmered, and a woman stepped forward out of the shimmer. She was wearing a leather jumpsuit, and her hair was tied back in a bob. Her face was too pale, and her eyes too dark, creating a black and white effect on her face.

She whipped out a knife, and slashed it across Spike's shoulder. He howled, and she stepped back, holding the knife, into the portal, disappearing.

Ozymandius lunged, falling through the portal.

And then Faith and Spike were alone, breathing hard and glaring at each other. Faith crawled to her feet, wishing for a moment she could have killed the demon. That she could have been the hero.

Spike clutched his shoulder, groaning. "Son of a..." He fell, catching himself with his good arm, just short of falling on his face.

Faith watched him, watched the blood dripping down his arm. She could see him trembling, could see how weak he was.

More than that, she could see rage in the way he held his head. Rage in the way he wouldn't look at her.

Rage that she could see his weakness. Rage that she had seen him fall.

Rage at his own weakness.

She knew that pain, the pain of feeling your carefully built façade shatter. The pain of feeling the scared little child within exposed, with all its attendant vulnerabilities.

She approached him, grabbing him under the arm and lifting him easily to his feet. With her Slayer strength it was an easy task, but he glared at her.

She shifted, looping one of his arms over her shoulder, and began walking out of the cemetery, towards the cemetery that held his crypt. He didn't resist her, instead letting his head fall forward, trusting her to guide him.

She felt a sharp pang in her gut. "You don't have to make this so hard," she said, her voice low, a whisper.

"Yes I do," he replied roughly, his voice strained. "You could never understand..." And his voice was choked, and the hand on her shoulder tightened suddenly.

She turned to look at him, afraid that he was in pain, but the pain he was feeling wasn't physical. He tightened his grip, pulling her closer to him, his eyes closed.

She snaked her other arm around him, running her hands over hard muscles, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

* * *

Faith lay next to Spike on the cold bed, and felt colder than ever. She was curled tight next to him, but he was a dead husk, generating no heat, no warmth.

She knew that when he awoke, he'd make her leave. She had no illusions that anything but exhaustion had caused him to let her stay.

There was no love, no emotion at all in his eyes when he looked at her. Just need, and an empty heart, torn apart by Buffy's death.

Faith felt even colder, realizing it.

It was strange, to be on the other end. Normally she used men, killed men, tore their hearts out. In at least one case, literally.

But here she was, lying next to a dead body that was hurting her just by lying there and doing nothing. She knew she should leave, should get out with some shreds of dignity intact.

But just for now she could run her hands over his body, could seek at least some unknowing comfort from him.

At least till he woke up.

* * *

Spike lay there, feigning sleep. Inside, all he could hear was Buffy's voice.

_It wasn't real._

The same phrase drumming into his head over again and again.

The first time she'd said those words had been about the Bot. Which hadn't been real. But that wasn't what he was thinking of now.

His love for her. His proclamations of undying, unceasing, unconditional love for her. It wasn't real.

How could it be? The minute another woman showed the slightest sign of interest, he'd jumped into bed with her. And he didn't even remotely like her.

It tore at him. One thing William the Bloody had never been was a liar. At least, not to those he loved.

Had he ever lied to Dru? No. To Buffy? No. Not really.

But he'd lied when he said he loved her, apparently.

Worse, he couldn't even really feel guilty over it—no, he'd leave that to big nancy-boys with souls.

All he could feel was anger, slow and burning anger. And despair.

And depressed.


	11. Morning After

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

Somehow, Faith had imagined it differently.

Perhaps a scene. Yelling had always made her feel better.

When Spike slipped up, pulled on his pants without a word, and headed out the door of his own crypt, it surprised her.

She watched him go, and felt her stomach twinge. This unfamiliar side of drama made her want to cry, suddenly. Her eyes felt hot, and she felt like a sissy.

He didn't even bother fully clothing himself. He just had to get out. Away from her.

And that hurt her.

She began getting her clothes together, and wondered what he'd done about the sunlight. As she dressed she had a disquieting vision of him staggering into the sunlight, bursting into flames.

She went outside quickly, and found that it was still before the dawn. The sky was alight with the pre-dawn colors, but the sunlight wasn't on the ground yet.

She could hear birds singing somewhere, and the song sounded more obscene to her than any curse she could have pulled out of her rather extensive repertoire.

She pulled the leather coat tight around her shoulders and headed for the Magic Box. For once, she wasn't going to be bragging about her exploits, about her...conquest.

She wondered if Spike would. She could almost imagine that rough, hard voice mocking her. 'Yeah, banged the Slayer, wasn't that a hoot?'

If he was angry, she could take that. If he tried to hurt her, she could take that.

This, this silent stealing away, without even looking at her—she didn't think she could take that.

She was surprised to find Xander in the Magic Box, talking to Giles. "I was thinking about a counter..." He trailed off when he saw Faith. He gulped his coffee and moved to leave.

"Ozymandius attacked Spike last night," said Faith quickly, wanting him to stay. Not really knowing why.

And then she remembered Xander's face. Eyes wide with shock—was that the way he had looked at her when she had used him, or later, when she'd tried to kill him? She couldn't remember.

But now his eyes narrowed, and he glanced back at Giles. "I thought they were all buddy-buddy."

"I thought so too," said Faith, relieved. This sort of conversation was easy. All business. No messy emotions, no terrible revelations. "There was a girl with him. She stabbed Spike with a knife, then they left."

Giles blinked. "Stabbed him and left—what else happened?"

Faith shrugged. "Not much."

Not much. She'd offered herself to the vampire, and his acceptance had been worse than his rejection.

Xander glanced at Giles. "Maybe we should call on Spike, ask him."

Faith shrugged, suddenly very worried, but she covered it up. "Tried the talking route. No joy there."

No joy indeed.

Giles had moved to a stack of books behind the counter, his private collection. "What did the girl look like?" he asked, his voice steady.

"Her hair was, whaddya call it? Kind of blond, kind of... strawberry blonde? Yeah. Black leather body-suit," said Faith, shrugging again.

"Hm." Giles glanced back at her. "I'll ask Angel if he knows anything about this tonight."

Faith nodded. "I'm gonna go get some shut-eye."

Xander glanced at his empty coffee cup, then back up at her, scowling. "Where were you last night?" His words were easy and light, but he already knew, and was just looking for confirmation. She had forgotten how much the kid could see.

"Patrolling." It was partly truth, but very little.

"Right," he said, tossing his cup towards the trash. He missed completely, and stared at the cup a minute before going over and putting it in the garbage. He headed out the door quickly, and Faith glanced at Giles, who was working, seemingly oblivious.

She knew it was a cover.

She chased after Xander. "What was that all about?" she asked, angry. How dare he judge her?

"You slept with Spike," noted Xander, and Faith knew he knew it. Knew she couldn't deny it. But how? What clues had she given him?

"How did you know?" she demanded.

He snorted, rolling his eyes. "How could I not know? And even if I had managed to miss all those road-map like signs you were throwing up, I'm pretty sure Spike would have given it away. Are you stupid?"

She growled, leaning forward. "Asks the nice murder victim. Are you looking for round two?" she asked combatively.

"He's a vampire! A soulless monster whose only thought is for blood and destruction! Please tell me you didn't fall for his whole 'twue wuv' shtick; that would be just too pathetic."

"I don't owe you any explanations." She let go and turned away from him, trying to block out the words.

"No, but you owe yourself a little more than that!" he snapped. "He's a vampire! He kills your kind, you kill his kind. At some point, one of you is going to kill the other—and if you're sleeping with him, it'll probably be you!"

Faith strode away purposefully.

* * *

Spike sat under the bridge, gazing out over the water. His skin tingled from the reflected sunlight, but he was in shadows so deep that nobody could even see him from outside.

It was safe enough.

He rested his hands on the soft dirt underneath him, and considered his life. Considered Ozymandius' words.

The demon's treachery had not surprised him. However, the girl had surprised him. The girl with the knife.

Spike sat there staring out, and thought about spells. Spells that could take the electronic chip out of his brain, or possibly disable it.

Spells that could work miracles.

But he was no witch, not like Red. He couldn't do a miracle by himself. He needed one of the Wiccans for that.

And why would they ever help him? What possible reason would they have to help him? They would view it as the worst sort of betrayal to do something like that. Even Anya wouldn't help with something like this.

Why would they? They all knew that if he got this chip out, they were as good as dead.

He'd reminded them often enough.

* * *

Xander stood in front the crypt door, watching the sun go down nervously. He knew he should go inside while the sun was still up, but he couldn't.

The stake in his hand seemed heavy, and he wondered if he could do it. If he could stake Spike.

Probably he couldn't. Probably Spike would run away.

He turned to the crypt door, and sighed, squeezing the stake tightly. "Come on," he muttered.

"Gonna slay my door, Harris?" asked a cold voice behind him.

Xander whirled, staring at Spike, who was shirtless, his chest white and fairly glowing in the twilight. Even this indirect sunlight seemed to be bothering Spike.

"Ack!" said Xander, shielding his eyes for a second. Then he assumed what he hoped was a fighting stance. "All right, then, Evil Dead. Let's do this."

Spike stared at him, his arms hanging at his sides, his hands limp. "Do what, git?" he asked conversationally.

"You're going down," said Xander.

"Why now?" asked Spike.

"Faith."

"What?"

"You slept with her."

"Ah, jealousy," said Spike smugly. "You wanted her too, huh? And I got her first, and you just can't take that."

"No. Been there, laid that. No thanks. I like my women a little less homicidal than that."

Spike scowled, suddenly annoyed. "What, then? I sullied her honor and you're coming after me?"

"No. You and I, we both know what you are. You're a monster."

"I'm glad somebody remembers," said Spike sullenly. In truth, he was bothered that it was only Xander that seemed to remember exactly what he was.

"Sooner or later, you'd hurt her. Maybe even kill her. I'm not going to let that happen." He was holding the stake ready to fight, shuffling his feet to move closer to Spike. "So, come on!"

Spike scowled, his hands curling into fists. "Trust you to get it right at least once," he muttered, stalking forward. "But tell me, Harris, even in your wildest dreams, did you think you could take me?"

Xander started to swing, but Spike ducked, moving around him. Xander whirled, stabbing at him, but Spike was moving away quickly. Xander started to run after him, but then Spike turned, and Xander hit a gravestone with his shin. As he fell towards another gravestone he realized that the vampire had lured him into hurting himself.

And then his head hit the gravestone, and he was out like a light.

* * *

Xander awoke to find Spike pulling him upright. "All right, come on, we're going," growled Spike.

Xander looked around quickly for his stake, but it was gone. He glanced at Spike, who was now fully dressed, including the ever-present duster. "Ow," said Xander blankly. He didn't understand why Spike was waking him up instead of leaving him a snack for the first monster to come along.

Spike grinned. "Well, you lose again. But you win, too. Odd world, inn't it?"

Xander shook his head. "Wh-what?"

Spike pushed him. "Come on, we're going."

"Going where?"

"Going to go have a little talk with the Watcher. I've been thinking, but you really put me over the edge, you know. Your little noble speech back there. That did it."

"Did what?"

"I'm leaving."

Xander stared at him, his mouth hanging open. "I'm sorry, but can I just say a big HUH?"

"I'm leaving. Out of Sunnydale. Bye-bye. I'm sick of you lot, and I've got no reason to hang around."

"You never had a reason to hang around!" protested Xander.

"I did. I had all the reason in the world. You lot protected me—do you have any idea how dangerous the world is for a vampire that can't feed and has a reputation for killing demons? Every vampire and demon in the world knows my face. I couldn't leave. But, now? I'm leaving."

"What? Why?" asked Xander. "Not that I'm not thrilled, mind you!" he added quickly, probing his head with his fingers. He winced when he found a particularly large lump.

"Never mind my reasons," growled Spike. "Come on."

They walked to the Magic Box silently. Giles was there with Dawn, pacing. "Spike, you're late!" he said when they came in. He didn't sound worried, or concerned. Not about Spike. He didn't even sound mad. It sounded more like a question.

Spike shifted the bag on his shoulder. "I'm leaving, Rupes," he said, tossing a set of keys to the Watcher. Giles caught them, surprised, and stared down at them, then back at Spike. His mouth opened slightly as he frowned, uncertain.

"Spike!" said Dawn, staring at him. "What...why?"

"I don't belong here," growled Spike. "Not with your happy little band. I'm out of here, okay? And you can't stop me."

Giles glanced back at the keys in his hands. "And this is?"

"Long term storage unit I stole a while back. It's got the address on it."

"Er, yes. What exactly is there?"

Spike shrugged. "Some stuff of mine. Figured you might need it."

"You can't just leave!" said Dawn. For all the anger she had towards him, no matter how awkward things were between them, she couldn't just watch him leave.

"Nibblet, if I come back, I won't have any chip. You see me again, start running." He turned and headed out the door.

At the door, he stopped, staring at the demon standing just outside the door. "Good morning, Spike," said Ozymandius cheerfully.

"Hey, it's night," noted Xander nervously, heading for the counter and whatever weapons might be back there. Spike backed away, tossing his bag to the floor.

"Night is morning to the monsters that come out and play in the night," said Ozymandius. "Leaving so soon, Spike?"

Spike stared at the demon, narrowing his eyes. "You fought Faith earlier."

"I captured Faith earlier. Do you want to see her?"

Spike laughed, throwing his head back. "You kidnapped the Slayer? You're out of your gourd." He picked his bag back up, checking it for spills. "Good going. Just try not to get dead."

Ozymandius hesitated, but Xander grabbed Spike, pushing him against the wall. "No!" said Xander.

"What?" asked Spike, annoyed.

"You got her into this mess!" snarled Xander, his face contorted into an ugly red scowl. "You slept with her, and that demon kidnapped her for it!"

Spike shook free. "Fast on the uptake, aren't you? It isn't my problem." He turned, pulling a long knife out of his bag, pointing it at Ozymandius. "Now, you and me are going to have words."

The demon stared. "You don't care that I kidnapped the Slayer?"

"Not. One. Jot." Spike scowled as he said, his eyebrows pulling down, hooding his eyes.

"You're bluffing. Hoping that I will let her go, since she is of no use to me. Well, I can spot a lie when I hear one. You do care, and you will come. The old factory. One hour, or I'll cut her throat."

He vanished into the night in a manner that left Xander wondering if he could ever learn to do that sort of an exit. Spike started walked, and Giles grabbed him, stake in hand.

"If you think you're just walking away now--!" he started to threaten, but Spike twisted free, dropping his bag again.

"I'll take care of it." He sighed, glaring at the three humans watching him. "I'll take care of it!"

Giles moved away, heading for the phone. Xander followed him. Dawn watched Spike stride off angrily, the knife still in his hand.

"What are you doing, G-Man?" asked Xander nervously.

"Angel."

* * *

Faith woke up in a cage.

If that wasn't enough to make her mad, somebody was holding her down and playing with her hair.

That was enough to drive her back into the homicidal category.

"Get off!" she growled, trying to buck them off.

"No such luck," said a musical voice, and Faith immediately IDed her as the girl who'd been with Ozymandius and had stabbed Spike in the arm. "Just doing some braids. Been a while since I've had another girl around to play with, ... and Ozymandius can be awfully boring. But all that's gonna change, soon!"

"Oh?" said Faith, trying to get up, only to find that her body wasn't responding. She began to panic as she realized she couldn't move.

"Yeah," said the girl, getting up and hauling Faith to her feet. Faith stood there, trying to get her feet under her and failing. The girl put her down against a wall, carefully propping her up in a sitting position, then crouching in front of her.

"You suck," muttered Faith, but her heart wasn't in the jab. She looked around the large empty room outside the cage, trying to figure out where she was.

"Everything's going to change," said the girl wistfully. "The vampire, he might be the one. His blood could change everything for us."

Faith twisted her neck. She still had a little strength in her neck, and she could talk. "What'd you dope me with?"

"It'll wear off soon enough, thanks to your Slayer blood." The girl leaned forward, touching Faith's cheek. "You know, this isn't my idea. It's just a way to get to the vampire."

Faith turned and tried to bite the girl. She snatched her fingers back, startled. "Hey!" she said.

"Get the vampire? I'd like to see you try it!" snarled Faith.

The girl backed out of the small cage, and slammed the door shut. "Oh, well."

Ozymandius strode into the room. "He's coming."

The girl reached behind her back and drew the knife she'd stabbed Spike with before. "Good. We can end this here tonight."

Faith struggled to move, struggled to do anything. "What is your deal?!"

"A little matter of a blood debt," said Ozymandius, leaning over the cage and staring at her. "Do you know what it feels like to be trapped? To watch every day as you kill only those who do evil? Kill only those who've tasted blood?"

"I do," said Spike, walking in the door and cracking his knuckles. "I know that feeling all too well."

Ozymandius straightened up, smiling to himself. "Come like a white knight to save your lady, I see."

"You need my blood, huh?" asked Spike, holding up a knife and cutting his wrist. Blood spilled and dripped from the cut. "You need this?"

Ozymandius stared at his arm. "Come here."

Spike sauntered forward arrogantly. "You know what really burns me? All you had to do was ask. I would have cooperated. I'd have given you my very life blood! But you lied, you evaded, and you...well, in general you acted like me."

Ozymandius chuckled. "Is something wrong, Spike?" he asked conversationally.

"Yeah. You screwed with the Slayer. And it was the wrong one."

Faith focused on his wrist, then looked at the girl, who was staring at the wrist thoughtfully.

"Why do you want Spike's blood?" asked Faith.

"We need it because his blood has balance," said Ozymandius. "Balance. That and he's a vampire, so he'll survive being totally drained of his blood."

Spike hesitated. "Balance?" he said, unhappily. Faith focused on his eyes, and was surprised to find him looking right at her. He put his hand on his wrist, stopping the bleeding. "You've got to be kidding me."

"He's not balanced," said the girl quietly.

"What?" said Ozymandius. "Is he not evil enough? We can make him do something evil."

"He's not good enough," said the girl with disgust. "There's no balance here, just a chip in his head making him behave. That blood--pig's blood! He's been drinking animal blood!"

Spike chuckled, and turned, throwing the knife. It caught Ozymandius in the eye, penetrating deeply, knocking him over backwards. "I could have told you that."

As Ozymandius fell and began thrashing the girl screamed, and Spike jumped at her, stopping at the last minute, clutching his head. "Oh, bugger!"

The girl watched him. "You're not good enough," she said unhappily.

"I heard you the first time!" he screamed. "What do you think I am, anyway? Some kind of champion? Bugger that! I'm just a vampire! An evil monster! All I worry about is my next meal! This whole save the world thing, it's just a hobby on the side to keep my alive!"

Angel stepped through the door. "I can't tell you how much it doesn't please me to hear that particular admission," he said, marching forward and grabbing the girl by the neck. "Get Faith out."

"Get her yourself, grandpa!" snarled Spike, turning to Ozymandius. "Hey, still kicking?"

Ozymandius struggled to his feet, blood running from his ruined eye. "You ... you tried to kill me."

Spike kicked him back down to the ground. "Ain't life sweet?" he asked. Angel tossed him the knife the girl had been holding, and Spike caught it without looking, slashing at the demon, who howled as Spike cut him.

"Why?" asked Ozymandius.

"Because you screwed with my... with her!" growled Spike, kicking Ozymandius in the face.

"Your what?" questioned Angel.

"Dinner!" corrected Spike, his voice getting even louder. He slammed the knife into Ozymandius' chest, breathing heavily. He kicked the door of the cage, bending a bar. "I've gotta go," he said, turning and walking away.

"Are you just going to let him go?" Faith asked Angel.

"Why not?" asked Angel softly, ignoring the panicked gasps of the girl he was holding.

"He's a vampire. Dangerous, and unbalanced."

Angel yanked the cage open with one hand. "Faith. William...I don't know that I could stop him. And I don't know why I would stop him."

"He's evil."

"Toothless." He helped her to her feet with one hand, and she started to sag he held her in place. "Come on, let's go interrogate the girl, huh?"

"Sure," said Faith, unhappy.

* * *

Once in his unlife, Spike had known happiness and love.

At this point, he'd settle for being able to drink something besides pig's blood.

He trudged through the night, his bag hanging from one shoulder, resting against his back. Inside was a week's worth of pig's blood, a few weapons, and a journal.

The Bit had given him the journal. Told him Tara had given it to her to help her with the memories, to help her move on. And the Bit hadn't wanted to use it. Hadn't wanted to expose herself to the world that way.

Spike could understand that.

So he kept it with him, blank. He was going to keep a journal, of sorts, he had decided. Something for the rest of them to puzzle over when he got back.

If he came back.

He wasn't too clear on that, just yet.

For now, keep the plans simple, he told himself. Go see the wizard of Oz. Get the chip out of your skull.

Then wreak some mayhem.

Yeah, his unlife was looking up.


	12. Chips erroneous

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

A/N: So it's obvious at this point that we're leaving anything resembling canon behind, right? Good. Thank you. It's why it's called AU.

* * *

Faith rubbed her wrists, eying the girl. "Run it by me again. Your name?"

"Mary," said the girl stubbornly.

"And you're Ozymandius' lackey," said Giles, watching the girl. "He was attempting to become free to kill again?"

"Yes," said Mary. She watched them. "Are you sure he's dead?"

"Spike is nothing if not efficient," said Angel with a sigh from behind Mary. "Now, tell me about the spell."

They'd brought her back to the Magic Box, and now Faith was wondering why Angel had decided to stay in Sunnydale. How he was coping with the loss of Buffy. Her mind wasn't really on this interrogation at all.

"Oh, simple stuff. The demons who cursed him—a long while back, almost a thousand years ago—left no loopholes. But when he found me five years ago, I found a counterspell that could just devastate the original spell. But it required a lot of 'balanced blood.' And we found a couple of balanced humans, but that didn't do the job. We could never get enough blood and leave them alive."

"So, you thought Spike...?" Angel was incredulous.

"Hey, the pig's blood really threw me for a loop!" said Mary defensively.

"How old are you?" asked Faith.

Mary shrugged. "What does it matter?"

"You look like a kid. You talk like a kid. But you're no kid," growled Faith. "You're a witch. Pretty powerful one by the looks of things."

"A dabbler," demurred Mary.

"Dabbler," muttered Faith. "That Mickey you slipped me was pure magic. Sorcery."

Mary shrugged. "I was just helping a friend out."

"So you were going to bleed Spike out," muttered Angel. "Great."

Faith glanced at him, surprised at his reaction. He hadn't seemed before as if he would have minded bleeding Spike out all by himself. He glanced back at her, tilting one eyebrow quizzically.

Giles shook his head, sighing. "Well, does anyone know where Spike went?"

Dawn, standing in the doorway with Xander and Willow, cleared her throat. "You heard him before, Giles. He's going to get the chip out," she said dully.

"I was hoping for something more specific," muttered the Watcher.

Faith frowned. "What...?" she moved closer to Dawn, put off by her reaction. "You're not surprised. Weren't surprised at all when he said it." The teenager looked at her with eyes that hadn't cried a tear, eyes that were too old for someone so young.

"He only stopped trying to get it out because of Buffy," said Dawn. "It was inevitable he would go back to trying eventually, without her. You just...sped the process up." She shook her head. "Stupid," she muttered under her breath.

"Did you call me stupid?" Faith asked incredulously.

Dawn met her gaze squarely. "No, that would be me, thinking Spike would stay. Buffy warned me—warned me at some point he'd stab me in the back. And I knew—but I didn't want to know." She turned away, and Faith realized suddenly that the girl hadn't been as stupid and naïve as she'd thought.

Faith had thought the girl was just hanging around with a cool vampire in ignorance, with little happy girl-like dreams and romantic notions.

But Dawn had expected it. She knew that the vampire had no soul, she'd known he would turn on her. She'd just been waiting.

Faith turned back to the witch, her stomach churning slightly.

Since when was the kid smarter than her?

* * *

Spike slumped low in his seat, glancing at the bus driver, and imagining killing the man and draining his blood. That would be...fun.

He felt a little bad about leaving the Nibblet the way he had. Telling her that he couldn't be her friend any more.

But it was only fair, since without the chip he wouldn't have a good reason not to kill her for the fun of it.

He rubbed his jaw, remembering Ozymandius, and remembering Dru's words about the demon. Drusilla had been right, as usual. She'd said some nonsense about him wanting the blood that Spike had stolen back.

He shifted in his chair, wondering where Drusilla was now. Not that he cared, he was completely over her. Completely. Totally.

It helped that she'd rejected him twice. For a fungus demon, the second time. And for Angelus, don't forget that one!

Actually, no, he was going to go over and kick Angelus' butt right after he got the chip out. That would help. Not that he needed the chip out to do that, but with the chip in, if an ordinary human tried to protect Angel...let alone a Slayer...

Why was it that Angelus got everything? Including Buffy, always including the girl.

Spike twisted his hands around the seatbelt beside him, simmering. Yeah, think about Angelus. That's always good to get out of a funk.

* * *

Faith staked the vampire, finishing the fight, and collapsed to the ground, holding her shoulder and groaning.

Angel joined her after a minute. "Got a minute?"

She looked around. "Hm. You're the only vampire in sight," she said, pulling herself into a sitting position. "Shoot."

"You kinda flipped on the witch back there," he said, sitting on top of a gravestone. Faith watched him, frowning.

"Yeah, you got a point?"

He shrugged. "You slept with Spike." He stared down at one hand, apparently absorbed by his cuticles, completely unable to meet her eyes.

"Yeah." She said it combatively.

Angel looked away. "Spike's...different. Did I tell you he saved the world?"

"I heard that."

"I meant back in the day, when he was still evil," said Angel. "He saved it from me...from Angelus."

"Back when you turned evil."

"Yeah. I had a plan to end the world." Angel glanced back to Faith, brown eyes meeting sardonic brown eyes. "He hated me, whether I was good or evil. The soul didn't mean a whole lot to him. Only recently did I realize why."

"Why?" asked Faith obediently.

"Because with or without a soul, I'm still me. Still responsible for all I've done without a soul. I know that. It surprised me to realize he knew that."

"What's your point?"

"Spike's a lot smarter than he seems. He's impulsive, but he's smart. He's not an opponent you want to be up against. He's deadly. Killed two Slayers already."

"You think I have to worry about this?"

"He went to get his artificial conscience removed. I'd say we have to worry, yes."

Faith sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be," said Angel quietly, his eyes falling. "I don't...I slept with Darla, you know."

Faith's eyes bugged. "You slept with –wait, wait, isn't that Spike's old girlfriend?"

"That's Drusilla. Darla was my old... I guess girlfriend covers it."

"Oh. Hm. Okay, not as bad as I thought at first."

Angel cleared his throat. "No, I mean really, really recently."

Faith sighed. "Lots of people sleep with their exes, Angel."

"How many do it thinking they'll lose their soul in the process? How many do it knowing she's only doing it to turn me evil?"

"On the second half? Surprisingly, a lot. On the first half? Are you nuts?"

"It was...well, there were circumstances. Bad, bad circumstances."

Faith sighed. "So, you're going to tell me instead of visiting me in prison you were banging your evil ex."

"Um, not so much evil right now. Well, yeah, she is again now, but..."

Faith double-blinked. "So...how'd that go?"

"Sort of redeemed Darla. And Lindsey. Then I lost Darla. Lost Lindsey. Gained Lindsey. You remember Lindsey?"

"Urban cowboy? How could I forget. Asked me to put the smackdown on you."

"Well, that part we couldn't fix. The evil part? He's more or less over that now. I think. Maybe. Left Wolfram and Hart, anyway."

"Nice to know."

"But, uh, Spike..." Angel sighed. "That's a poor decision. I mean, really poor."

"I needed it." Angel raised one eyebrow at her, bemused. "That's not what I mean," Faith amended. "I mean, he was...is...he's something different. And I just wanted, needed...I don't know."

"He can make you feel alive," said Angel softly. Faith's eyes flashed with surprise. "I know what he's capable of. He's my Childe. I pillaged and destroyed with him—and pillaged and destroyed him."

"Ugh! You mean you and he—?"

"No, I mean I stole his woman," Angel clarified.

"Oh."

"But those times spent with him—he's more alive than anyone else I know. Full of life, even though he's dead." Angel watched Faith. "He can make you feel loved. Drusilla was a cold, heartless animal, but she stayed with him for a long time just because he would take care of her, would never get impatient with her, would never get mad at her."

"So, he's the perfect vampire?" asked Faith, deadpan.

"And a soulless killer," Angel threw off sarcastically. "I guess it depends how you like your guys."

Faith sighed, rubbing her shoulder. "I wish you wouldn't make sense all the time."

"It's my calling in life," he said, deadpan. "You know, you're freaking Xander out."

"I know. And every time I look at him—right back to that bedroom. Bam."

"Where you were strangling him."

She glared at him. "That was implicit. You didn't need to say it."

"I think I did."

"What about you?" asked Faith, arching her neck to ease the pressure. "How're you holding up?"

For a second his mask slipped, and she could see the pain behind the easy witticisms. The pure misery. "Still not breathing," he said lightly, turning away.

"Well, that's something," muttered Faith, standing up.

* * *

Gissard paced in front of Spike. "This is absurd," mumbled the French-man without any trace of an accent. "This is beyond absurd."

"Look, mate, I'm talking about forty thousand dollars. You don't want it, I can take it somewhere else," said Spike.

"You don't have forty thousand," sneered Gissard. "Don't bluff with me, Spike, you're terrible at it."

"I can get it, if you take the chip out," said Spike.

"And you can get me. I'm not so happy with that outcome."

Spike lit a cigarette, letting the smoke warm his cold, dead lungs for a minute. The nicotine rush was barely there for him, his dead body healing any damage instantly. But the feeling of warmth in him was something he treasured.

"You're a wizard, git. Surely you're not afraid of a vampire."

Gissard sighed. "You come to me for a favor with offers of money you don't have. You think this doesn't set off every alarm bell I have? You are a strange creature."

"I'm strange?" Spike looked around the posh hotel room. "You weren't hard to track down, ducks."

"So I like to gamble a little, so what?"

"So take a little gamble here," said Spike, pointing at his head. "Give me what I want. See what happens."

Gissard drew himself up to his full height, which was a little taller than Spike. He squared his shoulders. "You're meddling with fire."

Spike ignored the solemn warning. "Look, let's simplify this, okay?" He tossed the cigarette to the floor and ground it into the carpet with a toe. Gissard didn't wince, simply staring owlishly at Spike.

Spike continued. "Forget all this crap you're worried about. Consequences, what I might do... I'm a vampire. No soul. Bad guy. Big bad." He flipped his lighter open and lit another cigarette.

Gissard fidgeted. "It's not that simple. You've been fighting for the forces of good, William."

"Spike," corrected the vampire, scowling.

"You think the people I work with can just forget that?" asked the wizard. Spike eyed him, considering the cropped-short brown hair, the blue eyes, and the gold earrings. Small, pebble-like earrings, that Spike could almost feel turning his stomach.

"They better," said Spike with a growl. "Not that I care what they think of me."

Gissard patted the front of his shirt, thinking about it. "You're quite a conundrum, you know that?"

"I don't care about politics, let's just get on with it," snarled Spike. Off Gissard's look he sighed. "Conundrum? Politics? The Road movies? Hope and Crosby? God, don't you have ANY fun?"

"Not if I can help it. That's exactly what I'm talking about. You immerse yourself in your shreds of humanity. You, you are mundane!"

"And you're not exactly the pinnacle of evil yourself. I killed two Slayers. When's the last time you did anything that evil?"

"That's not the point," said Gissard, wounded.

"What is?"

"Whether or not taking out your chip would be evil...or good." He gestured, and Spike's cigarette levitated out of his hand, and into Gissard's. The wizard stared at the butt, then snapped his fingers, disintegrating it.

"Oh, come on!" said Spike angrily. "What's good about it?"

"You've been going good!" repeated Gissard, starting to get angry. "Do you want me to spell this out for you, Spike? I'm not going to help you with your little chipectomy!"

Spike flicked open his lighter. "You know, I always did kind of hate you," he noted, stepping to the doorway.

"Tell it to somebody who cares!"

Spike glanced around, and moved fluidly towards the window overlooking the city, and thrust the lighter into the drapes. Gissard's eyes widened, and he raised his hands to attempt a spell.

Spike turned, striding out of the hotel room, tossing the lighter on the bed. As he headed down the stairs, he could hear Gissard screaming something at him, but he ignored it.

The wizard had been the easiest person to find, seeing as he was sitting outside of Sunnydale just now, but there were other places to go, other people who wouldn't overthink the process.

Come to think of it, why was Gissard hanging around outside Sunnydale?

Spike let the thought go. It was far outside any of his worries right now.

* * *

The warehouse sat as Angel and Faith had left it, with the demon's body lying lifeless on the floor next to the now-empty cage.

A dark figure stepped out of the shadows and knelt over the body, positioning his hands over it carefully. "Too rash, too rash," it murmured.

Then the body stirred.

Ozymandius rose to his feet, probing his ruined eye with one finger. "Ahhhhh," he groaned. "You couldn't give me my eye back?"

Mary shook her head. "I barely got away from those Sunnydale goons. If the vampire and Slayer hadn't wandered off, I could have been there a lot longer."

Ozymandius grunted, rubbing his chest. "Spike knew I wouldn't fall to a mortal's weapon, and he used yours. Why is that?"

"Maybe he thought my weapon would do the trick," offered Mary.

"No. Not that one," growled Ozymandius. "He never acts that rashly. He knew it wouldn't kill me permanently, but that it would make me appear dead in front of his companions. I want to know what he's up to!"

* * *

Clem watched nervously as the small dark-haired girl continued searching his room. "Um, can I get you anything...?" he asked hopefully.

Behind him, Ozymandius cleared his throat. "What else?"

"Well, he asked for a priest. It was weird, and I didn't understand why, but I got a mercenary who dresses as a priest. Kind of a new guy, not afraid—"

"The one with the crucifix battle-axe?" asked Mary, picking up a cup and sniffing the sides of it. Clem watched her, faintly disgusted.

"That's the one."

"He bears watching," noted Ozymandius.

"Who used this cup?" asked Mary suspiciously, licking the cup. Clem twitched.

"Um, I did."

Mary glared at the overweight demon. "You did? I find that hard to believe." She glanced at Ozymandius. "How much blood do you think you could give without dying?" she asked casually.

"Well, my kind has been known to survive many things... uh, I don't know," said Clem nervously.

Ozymandius clouted him over the back of the head.

* * *

Spike leaned against the motorcycle he'd stolen, watching through half- closed eyes as the two demons considered his offer. "You're sure you're evil," clarified one of them.

"You smell a soul?" asked Spike.

"Don't need a soul to be a pansy," grumbled the other. "That Host dude, whatshisname, Laura? Lorn? Lorne? He proved that."

Spike rolled his eyes. "I'm the pure embodiment of evil," he assured them. "Now, where?"

The demon shrugged, rolling his shoulders. "Word is, LA is the place. There's these lawyers with a conduit to the forces of darkness."

"Sounds right fascinating," Spike drawled. "Think they could do the job?"

"Oh, sure, but they're lawyers," said one demon, shuddering. "There'll be a price."

"I can pay the piper," Spike assured him, mounting the motorcycle. "I can bloody pay him."

* * *

Xander glanced up as Faith walked in, then looked determinedly back down at the book he was reading. Giles looked up and glanced at the two Wiccans behind him, then over to Dawn, reading another book in the corner. He glanced uneasily to Faith.

"Well, it's official; the guy we thought was dead isn't, the girl we thought we had broke out, and Angel thinks he knows where Ozzy is hiding out," said Faith. "And he thinks maybe this Clem character is what they were looking for."

Dawn snickered, and everyone glared at her. "What?"

"You know this Clem?" asked Faith suspiciously.

"Played poker with him a bunch," said Dawn. "He cheats."

Faith rolled her eyes. "You have any human friends, Dawnie?"

"A couple," said Dawn. "You have any?"

Faith glared at the girl, and wondered if what she had done was really bad enough to warrant this kind of punishment. Sure, she'd been evil, but coming back here to Sunnydale, dealing with these people... what could deserve this kind of punishment?

Xander cleared his throat. "Uh, so where is Angel?"

"Scouting," growled Faith. She wished she were out with him, but he had left her behind. Off doing his lone wolf thing--when he could be keeping her out of this.

Tara glanced at Faith, watching the rogue Slayer. She remembered when Faith had stolen Buffy's body, remembered seeing Faith inside Buffy. The rogue Slayer's aura was different now, clouded with many different emotions.

But, like Spike, a dark fear was inside her. It was strange, seeing two strong, fierce, indomitable people filled and consumed with fear. Consumed in a way very familiar to her. She had lived like that, with the fear.

But they had responded by guarding themselves with bravado and violence. They had responded by shielding their hearts.

Tara watched Dawn, who was crossing her arms and glaring at the others, then back to Xander, who was also afraid.

Sometimes her ability to read auras didn't help her at all.

Giles glanced around the room. "I don't think we're going to find anything," he finally admitted. "Any research we could do at this point would be... well, we already searched for any mention of this Ozymandius once. We found nothing then."

"Yay," said Faith under her breath.

"Perhaps we should arm ourselves and wait for Angel's return," suggested Giles.

Xander got up without a word and headed to a trunk in one corner. "Slayer gets first pick," he told Faith, opening it up.

"Axe," she said quietly.

"Axe it is," replied Xander lightly, handing her the weapon. She could see the way his eyes followed the axe after she took it, and she knew he was afraid of her. Knew he was afraid she'd hit him.

Why not? She'd done it before.

Faith retreated to the door, leaning against the wall and peering out into the night.

Every night after Spike had left the nights had gotten a little warmer, but she still felt cold lying in her bed after patrol, still could feel cold hands on her.

She'd never gotten stuck on a guy like this before, and it was scaring her. She understood obsession, but this was different. Usually she could cleanse an obsession from her soul. A little liquor, a little dancing, a little screwing, and she could usually just leave whatever had been on her mind behind.

He wouldn't leave her mind.

Xander continued pulling weapons out, finishing with a crossbow that he held with the air of familiarity, carefully pointing it at the ceiling.

Angel burst in the front door, blood streaked on his face. "They're already started. Let's go!" he said anxiously.

* * *

Lilah watched Spike sit, amused by his effort to keep still. He was twitchy, but it didn't appear to be from fear, which was interesting.

She'd read a lot about Spike, Angel's childe, when she'd been researching the family tree. Most of it had made him out to be a cold, vicious murderer. Some of it had added that he liked a challenge.

Nothing had mentioned he had ADHD.

"So, just this one little thing?" asked Lilah. "That's all you want?"

He scowled at her. "Luv, I've played this game before. You want a favor for a favor. No such thing as a free lunch. Usually I played the devil, but this time it's you playing that part. Fine. Just tell me what you want, and I can get it for you."

Lilah thought it over. "I could ask you to kill Angel, but you couldn't do it," she said dismissively.

His eyes lit up. "Don't be so sure. I could take Angel. Last couple of times it's been me and him...it's been me. Saved the world from him, you know."

"Yes, we heard about that," said Lilah neutrally, a smile playing around her lips.

Spike grinned. "Look, if that's it, kill the poofter for the chip, that's nothing. I can do that."

"I'd want you to kill Faith too." That was a bit of personal payback, with nothing to do with the grand plan. But it was well-earned payback.

"I can do that," said Spike. "Anything else?"

Lilah stretched. "You can't," she said flatly. "Not Faith."

"It'd be my third. Fourth, if you count Buffy," said Spike with a grin. "Eh? How about it, ducks? Dechip me, and watch their worlds crumple."

Lilah watched him, and smiled slowly. He clearly had no idea that Wolfram and Hart's file on him was extensive enough that they knew about his relationship with Buffy.

"One more thing," said Lilah. "There's a prophecy about Angel."

Spike's face wilted. "Big poofter," he grumbled.

"It says he'll be a big player in the End of Days, but it doesn't say on which side," said Lilah, smiling. "It's rather unspecific. We could make that apply to you."

"How?"

"A soul."

Spike stood up. "No way!"

"There are ways to suppress the soul, ways to keep it down. Then you could be a major player – on our side. Interested?"

Spike frowned. "I'd have a soul, but I wouldn't really have a soul?"

Lilah grinned. "You'd steal Angel's thunder in a very big way. Finally get the final word. He'd just be a footnote in your history."

Spike grinned. "One of those tiny ones. And illegible, if I can help it." He leaned forward, putting his fists on her table. "Count me in, ducks."


	13. Deals are for the devil

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

Spike didn't feel any different at all.

Which, considering everything he'd just gone through, was kind of weird. Doctors lounging through his brain, shamans rubbing oily cream on his stomach, and a soul being shoved into his chest—you'd think he'd at least feel a tingle, wouldn't you?

Lilah watched him, and he watched her right back. He didn't trust the lawyer at all. Her smile held secrets, and her eyes were guarded.

And he knew she just wanted to use him.

But he was okay with that. After all, he was just using her to get what he wanted, too.

He touched the side of his head, near the temple, and rubbed the bandages adorning his head. "Seems a bit odd," he noted. "No pain."

"We take care of our own."

Spike shrugged, sneering at her. "Sure, right." He probed the bandage, then dropped his hand, suddenly impatient. He glanced around at the doctors, but didn't really want to hurt any of them. They had, after all, been the ones to take his chip away. A monster he might be, but ungrateful?

He turned and struck Lilah, knocking her down. She let out a surprised cry as she fell, and a security guard behind her drew a gun.

"Well, how about that?" asked Spike, touching his head. "No pain." He grinned. "I'm in the game, aren't I?"

Lilah climbed to her feet unsteadily, watching him warily. "I guess so," she said, rubbing her cheek.

Spike grinned, moving closer. She backed away from him, surprised.

"Not so sure of yourself, suddenly, are you?" asked Spike, amused. "Well, I gotta go. People to massacre, kids to kill."

He stalked out the door, leaving Lilah standing there. Her knees weren't quite shaking, but it took a supreme act of will.

Spike was a vampire with a soul, but he wasn't a champion yet. He needed to save the world first.

Lilah strode over to the door beyond. "Are we set?"

"Yep," said Knox, lifting the controller in his hand. "I can reactivate the chip, zap him at random times—all sorts of fun. Tell me again, how come we want him to save the world?"

Lilah sighed. "Because otherwise he has no street cred. He isn't a champion, and the whole thing doesn't come into play."

"He saved it before."

"No soul then, Knox. Just give me what I want."

"We've initiated a new Apocalypse. Small one, but real enough. Our agent should arrive in Sunnydale soon—and when they get in touch with Spike, things should pick up a little."

"Who is it?" asked Lilah, irritated.

Knox grinned. "I thought for this one, nobody less than a fellow vampire would be safe."

"We don't have—you sent that new secretary, didn't you?"

"She said she knows Spike," said Knox smugly.

Lilah sighed, putting a hand to her temple. "She's a secretary, Knox."

"True. But if she fails, no loss, I'll send in my backup agent."

Lilah shook her head. "Okay, let's do this."

* * *

Ozymandius considered Clem, who looked a little green. "Are you all right?" he asked the other demon.

"Uh, yeah," said Clem. "There's just this pain. But I'll live. I hope."

Ozymandius nodded, flexing his fingers. "Now, hold still." He punched the soggy demon, who let out a shrill shriek. Ozymandius grinned. "I can hit you! You. A creature with perfect balance! It's terrific."

Mary limped over to join them, dark circles under her eyes. "That...hurt," she muttered. "It said a little pain. Lying little book."

Ozymandius grinned. "You see this? I'm free to hurt people again!"

"Hey!" said Faith from the door, holding an axe. "You wanna hurt people?" Angel stood beside her, elbow to shoulder. "Let's start here."

Ozymandius grinned and jumped forward. Angel and Faith split off, trying to split his attention. He focused on Faith, knowing she was the stronger of the two.

He slammed a fist into her side, ignoring the axe that she sunk into his arm. She fell to the ground, and he kicked her, sending her flying through the air, smashing into the wall.

Angel impaled him on a sword, slamming it through him.

"Nice try," said Ozymandius, grabbing the axe and smashing it into Angel, knocking him down.

He observed the two downed champions. "Pathetic." He carefully pulled the sword out of his gut, dropping it and the axe to the floor. "If you two are the best this world has to offer, it's doomed."

"I thought you were one of the good guys," muttered Angel, trying to rise.

"Not me," said Ozymandius. "You're thinking of Mary's mother and the other do-gooders."

"She was a real hero," said Mary, scrubbing her face. "Argh! My eyes itch!"

"Real hero," repeated Ozymandius. "Her legacy was a spell that forced me to kill evil things." He shuddered. "But once I got out of it, I was back in the game."

He turned to Mary. "Well, you're free, Mary," he said, smiling. "Finally you've paid off your mother's debt to me! What do you plan to do?"

She blinked at him owlishly. "Hm, I was gonna go for a cheeseburger. That would be good."

He shrugged, heading out the door. She glanced at the three wounded lying around, and chuckled. "Can't kill Ozzy that easy, you know. He survived having all his blood drained out of him."

"And he wanted someone else to know how it felt?" squeaked Clem.

Mary shrugged. "You figure it out, balance boy." She stepped out the door.

Faith struggled to her feet shakily. "That didn't go well at all."

* * *

Willow examined the book in front of her, trying not to think about how dark it was. "The urn is the last piece we need."

"What about this _vinos de madre_ stuff?" asked Xander innocently.

"Uh, I've got that covered," Willow said, evading the question. "We're ready, Xander."

"Way ahead of when I thought, too. Why is that?"

Tara shrugged. "W-we've been a little worried with F-faith," she admitted. "We w-worked harder. Faster."

"Better?" asked Xander. Off their looks he flushed. "Right. No bionic man jokes. My bad."

* * *

Faith entered the Magic Box with Angel. Giles looked up from his huddled conference with two other men. "Ah, she's back."

"Vampire!" said the youngest man in the group, grabbing the cross around his neck and swinging it towards Angel. It was on a short chain, and he pulled his own head down, stumbling out of his chair to fall on the floor.

The other man rose with an easy, animal grace. "Angelus."

Angel's eyes flickered from one to the other. "Ah. The new Watchers. I'll just—" He turned to leave.

"Stay," said Giles. Angel turned in surprise. "We'll want to know what happened with Ozymandius."

Angel nodded, glancing to Faith, who watched the two Watchers with dark eyes. "He got his mojo back. He kicked our butts." She scowled. "And you would be the Watcherly duo."

"Quite," said the younger man, lowering his cross and getting to his feet. "Er, this would be Angelus, then?"

"Angel," said Faith automatically.

"Er, right. I'm Ernst Quayle."

"Gissard," said the older man quietly. "Jean-Luc Gissard." Faith examined the fairly recent burns on the side of his face.

"What happened to your face?" she asked bluntly.

"A little gamble I took didn't pay off."

"Gissard is one of the Council's wizards," said Quayle quickly. "We thought it best to bring him along."

"I thought it was two Watchers, not a Watcher and a wizard," said Faith suspiciously.

"Technically, I am a Watcher," said Gissard. "I hear that one of your new enemies is a witch of some power."

"Mary," said Faith. "Yeah. By the by, where's Dawnie?"

"Home," said Giles, his tone deceptively mild.

"Might tell her that her little friend was a perfect balance between good and evil, and survived having all his blood drained," said Faith, glancing to Angel.

Gissard's faith twitched. "Perfectly balanced blood? That's a spell ingredient nobody should be messing with."

"Well, Ozymandius messed with it," said Faith, glancing back to Quayle, whose face screwed up into a tight mask of fear instantly. She looked away from him, and he relaxed.

Gissard glanced to Giles. "I see. And it freed him of what, exactly?"

"A compulsion to kill badguys," replied Faith. "Although he didn't kill me. Or Angel."

"Hm," said Gissard.

Quayle cleared his throat. "Where are you staying, Faith?"

"A motel my last Watcher set me up in."

"Oh. Er, Gissard and I have a better—"

"How would you kill me?" Faith interrupted. Quayle's eyes bulged, but Gissard glanced at her, his eyes narrowing. "If I killed again, what would you do?"

"Personally, I'd try injecting you with a cocktail of sedatives and muscle relaxants designed to take away your powers," said Gissard. "One that could rob you of your Slayer powers temporarily. If not, perhaps a nice little spell to kill you from a distance. There are lots of ways to kill Slayers when you have a wizard present—but, then you wouldn't have known that, would you?"

"No. I guess not."

"Yes, well, that's why I'm here. Not to protect Quayle, but to protect the world." He glanced to Giles. "How about you, Giles?"

Giles eyed the shorter man. "Yes, and how about the episode where you tried to end the world? Did that work out for you?"

Gissard grinned. "And that's why Quayle's here."

Quayle eyed his partner coldly. "We'll need to do some research."

* * *

Spike leaned against the wind, tightening his clutch on the handlebars. His knuckles were white, and he grimaced as some sensation began to return to his head, where the incisions were healing.

It was anticipation, but it was more than that. He felt nervous. He'd tried to put his finger on just why he felt so nervous, but he couldn't quite pin it down.

But he was back, now. Back and raring for action.

* * *

Faith and Angel walked through the cemetery alone, sharing their pain with each other silently.

Neither of them was especially given to sharing, but the simple communion of like minds and like pains kept them going. When guilt abated, heartbreak was more than happy to take a turn.

Their minds worked together in unison, and the melancholy they created fueled more melancholy.

In short, they brooded together.

"I don't trust Gissard," said Angel. "He holds too much back."

"I don't trust either of them. I guess that's proof they really are from the Council." Both of them remembered only too well the last time the Council had been after her. The professional killers that had been after her.

"Mm," Angle muttered, thinking of Buffy. Had that been the last time he'd seen her alive, when she'd hit him over Faith? No, there must have been a more recent time.

It didn't jump right to mind.

Perhaps it was because that scene had been ... real. She'd hit him, and it had hurt. More inside than outside, but it had really hurt.

"Spike," whispered Faith.

Angel broke out of his reverie to see the bleached blonde striding towards them smugly. "Great," he ground out, feeling his mood shift instantly into rage. Spike had always had that effect on him, and it was getting worse.

"Angel, Faith! How nice to see you!" crowed Spike, his face lighting up with evil joy. "How've you been?"

"I've been better," said Faith warily.

"Mm, I'll say," reposted Spike with a leer.

Angel thought about the comment a moment, then let it go. "So, Spike, how goes it? Still all chips ahoy?"

Spike grinned. "Funny thing, mate. I made this deal—humdinger of a deal, really! And they said all I had to do was give them one little thing."

"What?" asked Angel, alarmed.

"Just your heart!" said Spike cheerfully, charging forward and swinging at the older vampire.

Angel caught Spike's fists in his hands, trying to restrain the other vampire, who head-butted him, knocking him back, and whirled at Faith, who'd jumped to Angel's defense.

The vampire caught her first blow on the face, shook his head, and slammed a foot into her stomach, sending her reeling back.

"Oh, how this brings back the memories!" said Spike happily.

Angel came back swinging, throwing a one-two-three combination at Spike that sent his Childe reeling backwards. "What do you plan to do, bore me to death?"

Spike caught himself and kicked out, hitting Angel in the knee. There was a loud crunching noise, and Angel fell with a cry of surprise.

"That or a stake. Still not decided," said Spike sarcastically.

Faith shot forward, punching at Spike. This time when he caught the blow she swept a kick in from the side, knocking him across the graveyard. "How's your knee?" she asked Angel.

He stood shakily. "Broken," he said flatly. "I'll need some time to heal it."

"I'll see if I can't buy you some of that!" growled Faith, charging Spike and slamming a fist into his face. He reeled back, then returned the blow easily.

She fell, whirling around to trip him up. He stumbled and fell backwards, and she regained her feet, moving in again. This time he kicked upward, and she caught it with her hand.

The hard impact of his boot against her hand hurt, but she caught the boot, flipping him up through the air, throwing him to one side. He landed with a grunt, rolled easily to his feet.

"Let's roll," he said, stilling grinning.

He threw a couple blows at her, blows she all caught with her left hand. She was stronger than him, and faster. He'd surprised them before with his sudden attack, but she knew she was better than him--knew she could beat him.

As he tried to attack again she kicked him, sending him cascading down an incline in the grassy graveyard. He fell with a growl, only rolling about ten feet before flipping to his feet. He jumped up on a gravestone, his coat billowing out behind him.

"Whatsamatter, love?" he asked. "Little nostalgic for our little roll in bed?" He jumped upward, coming down beside her. She aimed a kick at him, but he blocked with a strategically placed elbow.

She spun back around, aiming a punch at his face. He ducked, punching her in the ribs. She stumbled, out of breath, and he grabbed her by the neck.

Then Angel tackled them both, knocking her free from Spike's grasp. She let out a gasp, surprised to still be alive, as Spike bounded to his feet.

"And the poofter enters the race," said Spike sarcastically.

Angel was obviously still hurt. If anything he seemed to have made his knee injury worse with his well-timed rush; but Faith wasn't going to complain.

"What is this?" asked a very familiar voice from behind Spike.

"Ozymandius," said Angel coldly. "Back from draining Clem's blood so soon?"

Spike blinked. "No, he wouldn't..." He turned back to Ozymandius. "Clem had balanced blood?"

Angel quickly moved, intending to hit Spike from behind, but he was moving too slow with his injured knee, and Spike lashed out backwards with a foot, sending his Sire rolling down the shallow incline.

Ozymandius raised one white eyebrow. "Already you've come to blows?"

"You lying ponce," said Spike quietly, moving forward. "You're hanging around, huh?" He took out a cigarette and patted his pockets, looking for a lighter. "Care to illuminate the situation?" He gave up looking for his lighter, tossing the cigarette away.

"I decided to start a massacre," said Ozymandius, deadpan. "I knew I could count on you."

Spike nodded, then punched the demon. "Idiot!" he screamed as Ozymandius reeled. Spike moved in, punching him again. "Do you have any idea what you've done to my plans?"

"You, plans? Please," said Angel, on his feet and limping closer.

"I have plans!" screamed Spike defensively. "Good plans! And you've screwed them all now, haven't you?" He punched Ozymandius again, knocking him back.

The demon swung for Spike, but Spike moved out of the way of the blow easily, punching him again. "Depth perception a little bad?" asked Spike cruelly, grinning nastily. He punched the demon again, driving him to his knees.

"You're just mad because I can read you now," whispered Ozymandius. "Mad because I can see your... SOUL!!" He shouted the last word, and Spike slammed both hands, locked together, into the demon's face, knocking him down.

"Soul?" asked Angel, shocked. "You came back...with a soul?" He frowned, helping Faith to her feet. "Boy, there goes my one and only title. Copycat much, Spike?"

Spike glared at him, kicking Ozymandius. "Can't keep a secret, huh?" He turned to Angel, spreading his arms wide. "That's right, mate. The vampire with the soul. Ironic, huh? Boy, those past evils sure do weigh on me. How about a hug?"

There was a clicking sound behind Spike, and he whirled. Gissard stood there, holding Spike's silver lighter. He flicked it open, then shut. "Spike."

Spike stared at him. "What're you doing here?" he asked blankly.

Gissard smiled. "Funny thing, that."

Spike realized, and hit the dirt immediately. The fireball that Gissard sent scorching at him missed by several feet, and Spike rolled behind a gravestone. "Watchers!" he said in disgust. "You can never tell how they'll feel about killing a Slayer!"

Gissard advanced. "You tipped your hand when you came to me. I was waiting for you to return."

"Wait, you know Spike?" asked Faith, once again trying to keep up.

"He came to me first," said Gissard. "One of the benefits of my reputation for evil. Burned my hotel room—that gamble I spoke of."

"Gamble?" asked Spike, staying down.

"I thought I could talk you down, Keep you from turning back to evil. Obviously, I was wrong. I—ARGH!!"

Gissard went sprawling, flung to the ground by a blonde vampire. Faith stared at the bimbo, dressed in high heels and an expensive skirt.

"He's down, blondie bear!" yelled Harmony. "Take them!"


	14. Returns aren't always triumphal

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

* * *

For a moment they all stood there, a frozen tableau. Vampires, a Demon, a Slayer, and the wizard who had just hit the ground; as unlikely a group as you could expect to find.

Spike and Angel reacted together while everybody else was still trying to figure out what was going on.

Angel's jaw dropped. "Harmony?" he asked, incredulous.

Spike glared at Angel. "Please tell me you haven't been sleeping with her."

"What? Of course not!" said Angel, surprised.

"Good to know we're not quite THAT predictable," said Spike jovially. "Yet." He drew a stake out of his pocket. "All right, then, Harm. Let's go." He started towards her menacingly.

"No, Spike! I was sent by the big guys!" said Harmony nervously.

Spike froze. "Wolfram and Hart?"

"You allied with Wolfram and Hart?!" demanded Angel.

"Way to keep a secret, blondie bear!" said Harmony, upset.

"Who's keeping secrets?" Spike shot back. He turned to Angel. "Yeah, I made a deal with Wolfram and Hart. Guess what they wanted in return." He lifted the stake, grinning. "Would you believe your head on a platter?"

Gissard groaned, and Harmony kicked him.

Faith approached Spike, her hands balled into fists. "So, chipless, you're here to kill Angel?"

Spike thought about it a second, eyeing her. "Actually, there may have been a clause about killing you too."

Faith nodded. "Right, then." She jumped forward at him.

Spike whirled, sidestepping her, and threw the stake at Angel, who ducked, letting it fly past him. It hit Ozymandius in the side.

"Ow," said Ozymandius neutrally, watching them. His previous plans for a massacre were forgotten in the face of this spectacle; he wasn't sure if this was the reason normal people watched television, or professional wrestling, but he was enjoying himself immensely watching his enemies kick the crap out of each other.

Spike frowned, focusing on Oxymandius again. "You know, for somebody I keep beating down, you keep getting back up awfully fast."

Ozymandius shrugged. "Good blood."

"Yes, it was," said Spike darkly.

Angel tried to attack him, but he was still limping on his bad leg, and Spike moved away fluidly.

"Spike! The world is ending!" said Harmony.

"Sod it!" said Spike, rolling his eyes. "Always were a little melodramatic, weren't you?"

"Champion with a soul," muttered Angel, glaring daggers at Spike. The pieces were starting to come together now. "That's what this is, then? They give you a soul, you save the world, and then you fight on their side, eh? That's the plan?"

"I guess so," said Spike dubiously. "Their plan, anyway."

"What's your plan?" asked Angel.

Spike grinned. "I was thinking about an all-you-can-eat lawyer bar. What do you think about that?"

"I think Darla and Dru beat you there," said Angel seriously. Spike's face fell.

"Women," he said with disgust. "Always stealing my best ideas." He strode towards Angel, who braced himself, but Spike just walked on by, hitting Ozymandius.

"Ow!" said Ozymandius.

"Can you take a bloody hint and stay gone?!" demanded Spike. Ozymandius swung at him, and the two of them began fighting again.

Harmony bent over Gissard, slipping into game face. Angel cleared his throat, and she looked up at him guiltily. "Just a sip?" she whined.

"You sip, I stake."

She stood up, pouting, slipping back into her human mask. "No fair."

Faith staggered to her feet, noting Spike beating on Ozymandius and Angel scolding Harmony. She frowned, shaking her head. "What is this, land of the perpetual weirdness? Who's fighting who?"

Spike glanced at her. "I'll be with you in a minute!" he said. "Just need to attend to this fella."

"You know," said Ozymandius weakly. "I'm also here to kill Angel and Faith. Couldn't we team up?"

"Me team up with you? Oh, please. I have my standards," said Spike, smashing a boot into Ozymandius's face. "I mean, yes, I did team up with a Slayer, big faux pas, but you? Please."

Faith staggered forward, rubbing her hands on her pants. "Wackier and wackier," she muttered.

Spike hesitated, smashing Ozymandius in the face again. "Don't think I'm not evil just cuz I'm beating a bad guy! It's just because I don't like him."

Harmony whined. "Spiiiike! The world is ending, and we have to save it."

"You save it!" growled Spike.

"You have to save it to steal Angel's destiny!" said Harmony.

"Do I bloody care about the poofter's destiny?" demanded Spike. "I mean, for crying out loud!"

"You said you did," said Harmony, confused.

"I was lying, Harm!" shouted Spike, kicking Ozymandius again. "It's this thing I do!"

"Not very well," noted Angel, beside him. "How do you plan to finish the demon this time?"

Spike leaned down, grabbing Ozymandius by the ears, and yanked, hard. The demon's neck broke and he slumped to the ground. "Next time I'll just try decapitation, eh?"

"Spiiike!" shouted Harmony. "Slayer, to your..." She consulted her watch. "Six o'clock! Oh, and, the world is ending."

Spike turned, facing Faith and Angel, grinning widely. His pupils were dilated, but he seemed unnaturally still. "So, distractions aside, are we ready for this? I know I am."

"Spike! Apocalypse!" wailed Harmony.

Spike sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Harmony, you're ruining the mood. I was really worked up about fighting these two--for various reasons I'd rather not get into. I really wanted it to go well."

"I'll do it," offered Angel. "Save the world.

"Right, fine, you can help." Spike waved a limp hand in Angel's general direction, closing his eyes for a second. "That just sucks all the fun out of my day!" He glanced at Faith. "You coming, Slayer?"

Faith glared at him. "What—just like that?"

"Why not?" asked Spike. "World's ending. That's your gig, ain't it?"

She considered this for a moment. "I guess so. But couldn't I stake you first, save the world later?"

"The hellmouth is opening!" shrieked Harmony. "We have to hurry, cuz when it gets open we're all in big, big, big, big trouble!"

"We get it, Harm! Big trouble!" snarled Spike. He sighed, rubbing his eyes. "What did I ever see in that vampire?"

Faith's eyes widened. "You...and her? Together?" she asked, her eyes flipping to Harmony. "Thing for blondes, huh?" she asked, and now she was angry and she didn't know why she was angry.

Spike took out another cigarette. "World's ending, inn't it? Let's chat later."

Angel sighed. "We need to stake you before we save the world. And, hey, you have a soul. What's with the evil?"

Spike snorted. "Like some poncy soul is gonna make me a poofter like you? Give me some credit, Angelus."

"Angel," Faith corrected automatically.

"No difference," said Spike.

"Big difference," hissed Faith, shifting her stance angrily. "What're you here for, revenge on Angel? You're no different from him, now. A hero, off to save the world."

Spike hesitated, patting his pockets, searching for his lighter. Not finding it, he tossed the cigarette aside. "I'm evil," he said. "'M gonna kill Angel, and prove it."

"Who do you think you're fooling?" asked Faith. "You're not evil. You can't fool me, or anyone else here. Maybe you're fooling yourself, but not the rest of us!" Spike shifted on his feet uncomfortably, backing up a little. "You want to be evil? Don't go save the world."

"I like the world!" said Spike. "It's filled with Happy Meals on legs, and, uh, I can do all sorts of unspeakable evils in it." He shifted his weight again, looking away. "Sod it, I'm evil!" He yelled.

"Keep yelling," said Faith coldly. "I think the demon almost believed you that time. Come on, Angel, let's go make like good guys." They began limping towards Harmony.

"No, no, no!" said Harmony. "Spike's gotta save the world!"

"No I don't!" snarled Spike, following Faith and Angel. Faith put an arm around Angel's waist, helping support him. "I don't need to at all. In fact, I'm not gonna! You're right, evil people shouldn't help save the world! So I'm not gonna!"

Angel stumbled, and Faith was barely able to hold him up after the beating Spike had given her. Spike watched, frowning. "The world is doomed," he muttered indecisively.

He kept following them as they headed for the old high school, muttering under his breath.

Harmony fell back to talk to him. "Um, Spike, you gotta save the world. It's part of Wolfram and Hart's plan."

Spike punched Harmony, knocking her to the ground, and kept walking. "'M not good just because I save the world now and then. I do it completely from the badness of my heart," he grumbled, following them in.

The Hellmouth, hidden under the ruins of the old school, was nearly open, now. The entire site was under construction, a new school being raised from the ashes of the old one. They walked in without a word about irony; all three of them were in a foul mood, for various reasons.

They reached the hellmouth, and found it opening. "Now what?" wondered Angel, glancing to Spike, who shrugged.

"Not here to help, just here to watch," he said, leaning against the wall.

Angel rolled his eyes. "We should stake him."

"He has a soul," said Faith, not even realizing she had just reversed positions on the matter. "I'm not staking him. I'm totally over killing things with souls. You'll have to do it."

"Oh," said Angel, and was able to wring a little bit of joy out of that thought. "Thank God for small mercies, I guess."

Then the Hellmouth opened.

* * *

Spike limped to the nearest unbroken door, pausing to lean against the crooked door jamb and gaze back at the work site where they were raising a new high school, which was now a smoking mess. "Just whose dumb idea was that, again?"

Angel limped up behind him. "I think it was yours. Or maybe Wolfram and Harts."

"Not the Apocalypse!" said Spike. "That whole stupid thing with the wall—whose idea was that?" He rocked his shoulders, trying to get at the dagger in his back. "Bloody painful."

"Wasn't me."

Spike hesitated a beat. "Must have been Faith."

"It wasn't me," said Faith, trying not to limp like the two vampires as she followed them. "I think it was the demon's idea."

"But we thrashed him," said Spike gleefully. "He didn't stand a chance, did he?"

Angel sighed. "No, he didn't." He bit down the urge to thank Spike for his participation in saving the world.

"Cuz you're just so evil," muttered Faith.

"What?" said Spike. "Oh, right, we're supposed to be fighting." He pulled out another cigarette, putting it in his mouth, and began patting himself down for a lighter. "Blast it, that wizard still has mine. Either of you got a light?" Both shook their head, and Spike tossed the cigarette aside, aggrieved. "Well, all right, then. You want to start fighting again?"

"No," Angel said with a wince.

"Didn't ask you. Faith, what about you?"

"Not particularly," said Faith. Spike deflated, his shoulders sagging and his expression turning from eagerness to sourness/

"Aw, c'mon. It'd be fun!" His heart was entirely in the protest, and he patted his pockets again, searching for the missing lighter unconsciously.

Faith glared at him. "That," she said, pointing back towards the Hellmouth. "That was your fault." She shook her head. "You came back here with a soul. To kill us."

"I wasn't actually going to kill you, just the poofter," argued Spike.

Angel sighed, rubbing his shoulder. He leaned against the wall, reaching down to cradle his leg. "You know, I'm really hating you right now."

"The feeling's mutual," grumbled Spike, wandering off.

Angel watched him go. "You know, I'm kind of confused."

"About the not killing us part?" Faith knelt down in the doorway Spike had been in, grabbing the unlit cigarette he had discarded, examining it closely.

"Yeah."

Faith wiped her mouth. "He needed to work himself up to it," she said, her voice equal parts acid and wonder.

"What?"

"Did you see how juiced he was when he attacked us the first time? I know adrenalin, and he was riding it. Did you see his face just now? Downer. Like a junkie coming down after a trip. If we'd started on him, we could have taken him."

Angel considered it. "He was trying to talk himself up to it, back there. He wasn't trying to scare us--he really wasn't in the mood. He really has lost his mojo."

"The evil part of it, anyway. Where are you staying?"

"Uh, I have this mansion..."

"Right. I remember. Chains, right?"

"I have numerous places to sleep much more comfortable than the chains. Of course, you have your hotel room."

"Mm, yeah, I'd go back there if I was dying and had positively no other choice. Mansion it is. What about Gissard?"

"Well..." Angel trailed off. "Oh, right, the wizard." He blinked. "Did he betray you, or not? It wasn't very clear."

"He said he was trying to talk Spike down," said Faith. "But he didn't tell us about it. I don't know if he was betraying me or not. But, hey, Watcher. Know where we left him?"

"Yeah, we left him unconscious in the graveyard. Where'd Harmony go?"

"Spike hit her."

"Okay. I'm sure your wizard, if he's still alive, is fine." Angel started limping forward. "Argh. I'm going to need blood soon, to heal this."

"I wish I could just drink a lot of blood and heal," muttered Faith.

"No you don't. Animal blood is disgusting. And human blood is very, very guilty. Er, guilt-causing."

"Did your banter get bruised in the fight?"

"Yeah, I think it did."

* * *

Spike crashed into his crypt, slamming the door behind him, and stomped over to his favorite chair. It was broken and sagged uncomfortably when he sat in it, but he ignored it.

Harmony moved out the shadows. "I just got contact from the senior partners! Good news! You're a champion! Now you just have to kill Angel, and everything's fine!" she said chirpily.

"Shut up."

"Blondie bear, you've won! You've—!"

Spike was up in an instant, slamming Harmony into the wall "Choice time, okay? Are you with Wolfram and Hart, or are you with me?"

"Er, you," she said, surprised. She hadn't expected to have to make a decision like this for at least another day.

"You make contact with them again, and I'll dust you," said Spike, sinking back into the chair. "It didn't bloody work."

"Excuse me?" said Harmony. "I saw you hit that Slayer. It did work! Totally chipless and _eviiil_ again!"

"It didn't," said Spike dully. "It didn't because...I still feel this way. And even fighting didn't stop it." He scratched absently at his chest. "Without the chip I was supposed to stop...supposed to go back to the way I was. But I can't, can I?"

"What?"

"I'm supposed to be evil!" He was scratching his chest with both hands now. "But, but I can't be, can I? Couldn't even kill Angel, and you'd think that would be easy. I could've beat those two in a fight--they were wounded, they didn't even want to fight! But I didn't." He glared at her. "And you're not making this any easier, hovering there."

"I'm not hovering."

"I need you to go find out if Ozymandius is dead. Oh, and if Gissard is there, avoid him," Spike instructed coldly.

"God!"

"What?" asked Spike, annoyed.

"You are SO not in charge here, Spike!" said Harmony, crossing her arms.

Spike vamped out. "You are three seconds away from a staking."

She was gone before he could count one.

Spike slumped in his chair, alone and confused. "Wasn't supposed to be this way," he whined. "It was supposed to go back to the way it was. It was supposed to be easy again."

He kept scratching his chest.


	15. The face of an Angel

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

Gissard read the newspaper quietly, holding the icepack to his head, while Quayle tried to give new meaning to the word fret. He paced, chewed his nails, and nervously rubbed his hair. The younger man was clearly not having an easy time of it.

Faith sat opposite Gissard, a look of complete boredom on her face.

"A soul changes nothing!" said Quayle.

"Then you stake him," said Faith, watching Gissard. She had her own ideas about whose opinion was worth listening to, and this young Watcher-lite wasn't it. The wizard had power, and he also apparently knew Spike.

"He was trying to kill you last night!" protested Quayle.

"He got over it." She still didn't take her eyes off Gissard.

"He's an unaligned, probably insane, totally evil—!" Quayle kept ranting, but Faith zoned him out, concentrating on the spellcaster, who took another sip of coffee.

"What do you think?" Faith asked Gissard defiantly. Quayle cut off, and Gissard glanced up at Faith. He lowered his coffee to the table, glancing at Quayle.

"He was trying to kill you last night," said Gissard. "But then he stood with you to close the Hellmouth. It seems he changed his mind, then. What brought that on?"

Faith bristled. "Don't answer my questions with frickin questions! I've played head games with the psych-guys at my prison, I know that game!"

"It's not an idle question," said Gissard. "You're talking about William the Bloody. With his reputation for killing Slayers, we shouldn't take him lightly. You say he decided not to kill you. Why would a monster like that, soul or no soul, decide not to kill you?"

"Who cares?" asked Faith.

"I do," said Gissard. "I've known Spike longer than you, I think. Back in the day, there was nobody more dangerous. I think a dose of caution would be a good." He lifted the coffee mug, hesitating when it was at his chin. "A soul may mean everything, or it may mean nothing."

Faith snorted. "Thanks for that newsflash," she said sullenly, leaning back and scooting her butt across the chair to the very edge, slumping low in the chair.

Gissard nodded. "I aim to please. While Harmony had me on the ground, I heard mention of Wolfram and Hart—an association of evil lawyers."

"I know who they are."

"And I heard they wanted him to kill Angel," said Gissard, sipping his coffee. He glanced at Quayle. "It just fills me with hope for the future of Angel."

"What?" said Faith. "What's that mean?" She sat up. If he was implying anything about Angel she'd kill him, no matter who he was.

"I mean, if he's ticking off the evil lawyers, he must be doing something right," replied Gissard, glancing back to her. "What about Spike, who is apparently allied with the evil lawyers? What's he doing right?"

Faith glared at him.

* * *

Spike stood in the middle of his crypt, carefully reading the book in his hands while fumbling through the pockets of his duster.

There was a knock at the door to the crypt, a sound that, to the best of his memory, he'd never heard before. Nobody knocked; they just entered. And that reminded him of Buffy, which made him angry and sad all at once. "It's always bloody open!" he snapped, quickly closing the book and tossing it into the corner.

Angel opened the door, stepping inside. As he entered he dropped the blanket held over his shoulders, kicking the door shut.

"Angel," said Spike, surprised.

"Spike." Angel glanced at the book in the corner immediately. "Is that a spell-book?" he asked suspiciously.

"S just a bloody book of ..." Spike trailed off, staring at the book, his eyes narrowing. "I don't know," he said, loudly and harshly. "Harmony left it lying around. It's not mine."

Angel marched over to it and picked it up. "Poetry?" he asked, his voice disbelieving. He flipped it open to confirm that it was, in fact, poetry. "Light all effulgent—this is yours!"

"S not."

Angel flipped to the first page. "The posthumous poems of William the Bloody, published by ...his dearest Cecily? What is this?" he asked, astonished.

"S nothing!" snarled Spike.

Angel flipped through it. "This is poetry you wrote as a human!" he said, apparently stunned by the realization. "Somebody published it after you were dead?"

"Bloody wench. I should have killed her," muttered Spike, flinging himself into his armchair.

It finally shattered from the strain, exploding under him and dropping him to the floor. He remained where he was, his sharp face torn with sullenness.

"Are there any others?" asked Angel, opening it up and beginning to read.

"No. Hunted them all down half a century ago, when I found out about them. Had to kill a Watcher and burn all his journals to get one of them."

Angel put the book down carefully, smoothing the cover. Then he stood up, thinking about it.

"Can I keep this one?"

"If you ever show it to anyone, I will bloody kill you!" snarled Spike.

Angel picked it up absently. "I thought you were going to do that anyway?"

"Don't like making deals with lawyers. I've dealt with every sort of slimy soulless beast in existence, but it makes me feel low," said Spike, trying to cover up everything he really felt on the subject. "Dealing with lawyers, I mean."

"I know exactly what you mean." Angel's words were carefully neutral, but he was still probing. "I mean, I'm good, and I locked them all in that basement with Dru and Darla."

Spike's eyebrows went up. "Touch of Angelus, there?"

"They deserved it," snarled Angel, almost vamping out. "Turning Darla back after she'd got her second chance as a human..."

Spike eyed him. "You always did have a weakness for the ladies."

"Look who's talking. What's your fascination with Slayers, Spike?"

Spike looked away. "I shouldn't have slept with Faith," he said, and Angel could hear guilt filling his voice, a guilt that Spike never felt.

Angel's eyebrows went up. "I beg your pardon?"

"It was...untrue to Buffy," said Spike with a sigh. He fidgeted, then stood up, staggering to the bed.

"You haven't fed." Even pig's blood would have had Spike in better shape than he'd been in when they'd parted last night.

"Can't seem to work up an appetite," whispered Spike with a laugh. "What're you doing down here, come to torment me?"

Angel pressed his knuckles together. "Something like that. You know, you stole my Shanshu."

Spike shrugged. Shanshu had been one of the terms Lilah mentioned before, in the small print. He had tuned it out, but he knew it was connected to the prophecy about Angel. He had no idea what it meant, or what Angel wanted it for; all he cared about was denying it to Angel. "Not my fault you couldn't handle one little Apocalypse."

"No, I guess not. I certainly can't fault you for having a soul." He looked around. "You don't seem to be suffering."

"I'm a rebel," growled Spike. He hesitated, watching Angel carefully. "You know, I can't help but wonder, just what is it about you that makes me hate you so much? The way you steal everything that's mine, the stupid way everything becomes a search for redemption for you, or just your stupid hair?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "I'm stealing your gig? Please. Who had a soul first? At least I don't have to wonder why I hate you. And isn't that an awfully introspective question for you? _You?_"

"I've been journalizing," announced Spike imperiously.

"Journalizing?"

"Writing down all the wonderful things having a soul has done for me." Spike fished the journal Dawn had given him out of his dusters and handed the book to Angel, watching in glee as Angel opened it.

"To do: kill the poofter," read Angel. He glanced up at Spike. "What about the Faith clause?"

Spike shrugged. "Not gonna do it," he said, lying back on the bed and spreading his arms out. "I've seen enough Slayer blood, I guess. I'm out of the business. Not killing Slayers no more."

"What about other humans?" asked Angel.

Spike scowled. "They're fair game, aren't they?" he asked defensively, reaching down with his right hand and scratching his breastbone. Angel's eyes were drawn to the scraped, threadbare material of the T-shirt, and the rips over Spike's chest.

"You haven't fed." Angel had said it once before, and now the significance of it began to bother him. "Not planning to, are you?"

"I'm not a ponce," muttered Spike. "But if I feed, the Slayer'll come after me, soul or no soul, won't she? And then there'll be more Slayer blood. Enough of that. No more." His rationalization sounded absurd, even to him, so he cut himself off.

Angel stared, narrowing his eyes. "Wolfram and Hart screwed you, didn't they?"

"They said they could make it so I didn't feel the soul!" snarled Spike. "But it itches like mad!"

"Not that. Asking you to kill Faith. Now you can't keep part of the deal, even if you do kill me. And they'll take it all back."

"They can't put the chip back in my head," said Spike desperately.

Angel shook his head. "They can do things much, much worse than that. They can give you hell, Spike."

Spike whimpered, closing his eyes and scratching at his chest in earnest now. "I can hardly bloody think through the itching, and they want to play games with me?"

"They played you. Used you." It was a conflicting moment for Angel. He knew full well that the true consequences of Spike's disastrous decisions would be paid by him, not by Spike, so it should have been a bad moment for him. But seeing Spike miserable like this was satisfying on many levels.

"I used them!" snarled Spike. "I'm the big bad! I'm evil!" The snarl slowly slid off his face, leaving an unhappy, empty look on it. "They screwed me."

Angel sighed. "You want to fight?" he asked, hoping the promise of violence would cheer Spike up a little. A violent Spike he knew how to deal with, but he had no experience with this Spike, this hollow, defeated husk, whipped down by life, the Initiative, and Buffy. Not necessarily in that order.

"No. I go to fight you, and all I can think about is how much she'd bitch about it."

Angel frowned. "Yes, she would," he agreed, remembering his fight with Riley. That had been a low point, but he was still pretty proud that he hadn't killed Riley.

That sort of self-control was important.

Spike glared at Angel. "I haven't joined your little fanclub either, you know! "Just because I'm not _ACTIVELY_ trying to kill you doesn't mean I'm rooting for you, you know!"

"As long as you aren't going to hurt Faith, we're fine. Five by five." Angel smiled at the familiar phrase.

"Great. And when the sun sets, Wolfram and Hart and Ozymandius will be out there, waiting for me."

"Decapitate him, then, like you said--and them too."

Spike grinned, pleased Angel had remembered what he'd said about Ozymandius earlier. "Well, I might not go that far all at once."

"Actually, I've been thinking about Ozymandius. Faith and I can hit him all day, and he doesn't seem hurt at all, but the minute you show up, he's dead. Why is that?" Asked Angel.

Spike shrugged. "Because I drained his blood, of course. Bite him and drink some—it's the only way you'll ever beat him."

Angel stared at him. "What?"

"Well, how d'you think I beat him back in the day?" asked Spike, rolling his eyes. "He was just as bloody unbeatable then too, y'know. If you draw some of the unearthly power in his veins, turn it back against him--honestly, didn't you know that? Unbeatable demons draw power from their very uniqueness. Dru taught me that; I can't believe you didn't know that!"

Angel considered this, moving to the door and pulling his blanket back over his head. "You might want to keep your head down for a while, Spike. I'll ask around, find out what the lawyers are up to."

Spike shrugged. "Maybe I will, maybe I won't."

Angel headed out the door. Under the prickling sun, he hesitated, unsure, then headed quickly for the sewers. Sunnydale had changed since he'd been gone, changed drastically.

Some things were still the same. The sewers looked swept clean, and there was a pine-scented air freshener hanging from the ladder.

Because some demons had delicate noses, and wanted to live the high life. Even while slouching through the sewers.

Angel grimaced, heading towards the Magic Box. He wondered briefly why he was doing this.

Oh, yeah. Buffy was dead. His mood descended further, thinking of her. Why hadn't she called him?

Well, okay, he'd been in another dimension, so that wouldn't have done much good. No dice.

But, still.

At times like this, he could see the wisdom in Spike's way of living. Live fast, live rough, leave a huge trail of corpses.

If Spike suffered, everybody suffered, and then Spike felt better.

Angel emerged in the basement of the Magic Box, and quickly climbed to the top floor. Giles and Anya were discussing stocking levels, and Angel stalked up to them silently.

He got such a kick out of sneaking up on people.

"I just spoke to Spike," he said, relishing the way they both jumped and spun to look at him. Yeah, life was good...

"Oh? Er, yes," said Giles, taking his glasses off to clean them.

Angel glanced around. "Expecting the Slayer?"

"Watchers," sighed Giles. "Perhaps." He eyed Angel. "And how is he doing?"

"He got a soul for all the wrong reasons, and apparently he doesn't really have a soul." Angel watched Giles' face, saw the complex stream of emotions playing over it. Guilt, regret, steely resolve... "It's a little complicated."

"What's that?" asked Anya, pointing to the book sticking out of Angel's pocket. "A spell-book so we can make sure he has a soul?"

"Uh, no," said Angel, putting a hand on the book defensively. "Just a little, um, light reading." He glared at them, daring them to challenge him on this.

Giles raised an eyebrow, but let it go. "I don't know what we'll do now," he said. "Gissard—I'm really nervous about that. He's not just any wizard, you know. The Council picked him up several years ago, reformed him, allegedly."

"Just how reformed is he?" asked Angel. "He was at least shooting at Spike last night. But apparently Spike went to him to get the chip out first."

Giles sighed, rubbing his eyes. "It could be that Spike didn't realize Gissard works with the Council now."

Angel grimaced. "And Ozymandius," he said, coming back to their biggest problem. "Spike tipped me off on how to beat him, but every time Spike kills him, he comes back. We need to do some research on him."

Giles shook his head. "We searched for him for a long time and found nothing. Pure-blooded demons that look human--anything. We found nothing."

* * *

Spike wasn't at all surprised when Faith kicked his door open. He was just glad Angel'd taken the incriminating book of poetry—Angel was the only person he'd trust with the book, and only because it was all stuff the older vampire had seen before.

"Slayer," he said neutrally, sitting on the corner of the bed. Several lewd comments about the bed came to mind, but the look on her face held them back.

Contrary to most people's beliefs, Spike did have a survival instinct.

She stalked closer, twirling a stake in her hand. "So, you came back to Sunnydale to kill me."

He groaned, standing up slowly. He ached all over, and he knew if he didn't eat soon he'd probably go feral and attack Faith.

But he couldn't bring himself to drink pig's blood. He just got the chip out, he shouldn't have to drink pig's blood! He should be able to go back to eating people, to the best food of all!

Faith approached him, her face angry. "You gonna answer the question?"

"I already did, last night. Yeah, the lawyers sent me to kill you. Whoop-de-doo! Didn't kill you, did I?"

"Gissard thinks you're dangerous."

Spike's face twisted into a scowl. "Gissard is..." He trailed off uncertainly. "Um, what do you want?" He tried to change the subject.

"Evil?" suggested Faith, leaning closer. "Probably going to try to kill me?" She smiled, a smile very much like a predator. "Who are we talking about again?"

"Sod it!" growled Spike, standing up and invading her personal space. "I said I wouldn't kill you. What more do you want?" He moved forward, forcing her back. "Affidavit signed in blood? Lawyers' hearts on a bloody platter?"

She stopped moving back, forcing him to stop or run right into her. He stopped, hesitating.

"I don't like puzzles," she growled.

"No, you like things nice and open," he growled at her. "Do I look like one of your Scoobies? Oh, sorry, not your Scoobies at all, were they?"

Her face hardened, and she punched him in the face, rocking him back. For a second he was surprised, but then he replied in kind, slamming a fist into her face. She reeled back, but then kicked him, neatly knocking him to the ground, and straddled him, grabbing his right wrist and pinning it.

He growled her, lifting his legs sharply and kneeing her in the back, driving her down.

Then she felt his fangs enter her neck, and his left arm wrapped around her head, holding her down as his fangs pierced deep into her.


	16. The devil you know

Disclaimer: I own nothing

* * *

Spike sat in his bed, his back up against the cold backboard. He felt cold inside, and even deader than ever before.

His hands were moving, stroking Faith's hair. She was curled up across his lap, sleeping the sleep of the innocent, the blameless—or, to be more realistic, those who've lost a lot of blood.

There was dried blood around his mouth, and down his chin. And he could smell more, and fresher, on her neck. A trickle had wrapped its way all the way around her neck, leaving a red line. A red line that the was the most beautiful, most twisted, most haunting thing he'd ever seen.

He stroked her hair numbly, trying not to think too much.

He'd nearly drained her dry. He almost hadn't been able to stop. The hunger, the rage, it had all come together, and he had nearly drained her dry.

If he'd betrayed Buffy by sleeping with the other Slayer, then this was a much, much worse betrayal.

He couldn't even stake Angel because it was a betrayal of Buffy.

But he could try to kill the other Slayer, apparently.

His hand stroking her hair was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and he was dimly aware that he was crying, tears streaking down his face.

She stirred in her sleep, and he adjusted her, trying to keep her comfortable. It was nearly dawn, and he knew people would be missing her soon, wondering where she was. Soon they'd come looking.

Would a Scooby find him here, or would it be Angel?

Maybe it would be Xander. Then the whelp could feel righteous, couldn't he? Because he'd been right, all along. He'd tried to stake Spike, and now Spike could understand why.

The whelp had known. The whelp had know that this would happen, and he'd been right. Knowing what Spike was really like, and even being terrified of Faith, he had tried to kill Spike because he'd known this had to happen, that it was the only possible outcome.

It hurt Spike to even think these thoughts, but it was entirely true.

He stroked her hair, gently lifting her and sliding out from under her. When she woke up—if she woke up—she'd probably come after him herself.

He didn't bother packing. He slid the duster off his shoulders, slipping it over Faith like a blanket.

From a Slayer, for a Slayer. It was downright poetic.

He walked away quietly, into the sewer tunnels. He broke into a run when he was far enough away, and kept running. He felt like he could run for hours.

It was the borrowed Slayer's blood, he knew.

It drove him to run faster.

Gissard wouldn't help him, and Wolfram and Hart would be no help.

No, this time he had to go back to somebody he could trust. And that would be difficult, all things considered. The life he lived was one without friends.

Want. Take. Have.

And ignore all the people he hurt.

He exited the sewers near Buffy's house, and went in quietly. He found Tara up reading in a rocking chair. He cleared his throat, approaching her, and she looked up, her eyes widening.

"What...?" she asked, surprised.

"I need a favor, pet," he said quietly.

She brushed a hand over her lips, and he clapped a hand to his own, touching dried blood. He frowned at her, brushing it off. "Don't get squeamish on me now, Glinda," he said reproachfully.

He knelt, facing her. "You know I have a soul now?" he asked. She shook her head. "I do. But there's a spell, something holding it apart from me—something keeping it at a distance. I want you to take it off."

She found her voice again, her eyes narrowing. "Why is that spell on it?" she asked.

"Because I wanted to have my cake and eat it too," he said cryptically. "Come on, love. It should be pretty simple."

She frowned, shaking her head. "Willow—"

"I'm kind of in a hurry," said Spike, standing up and moving away. "And I don't think she would do this for me, right? Look, I need this, all right? It's the only way to make it right."

She got up, moving towards the kitchen. "Come on, then," she said, resigned. "L-let's see what it is."

* * *

Faith woke up alone.

Which was better than not waking up, given that her last memory was of struggling while Spike held her down and drank her life-blood.

She shifted, groaning at the sudden pain from her neck. She was stiff and sore all over, and hungry.

Not to mention as weak as a baby.

She tried to roll over, but got caught in the large leather duster enfolding her. That's when the bed underneath her registered, and she fought her way to her feet, looking around for Spike.

He wasn't there, she realized, swaying slightly.

She stepped off the bed, leaving the duster. She didn't see any piles of dust lying around, nor any signs of a struggle.

Beyond the signs she and Spike had left.

She staggered to the door, opening it. She was surprised by the light outside—it hadn't even been noon when she'd gone to confront Spike, and now the sun was rising again.

She put a hand to her neck, and came away with blood on her fingers.

She knew she'd lost a lot of blood, and needed to get food and rest. She set out across the cemetery, stopping when she came face to face with Ozymandius again.

"Oh, hey," she said, surprised. Spike had killed him again, but the body had been gone, so she knew he was up and around. But what was he doing here, near Spike's crypt.

"Spike in?" he asked, as calmly as if he hadn't fought her just a short while ago, as if Spike hadn't killed him last night.

"Nope," she said.

His dead, flat eyes wandered to her neck, and for a moment he stared. "Hm. Kinky," he said finally.

Faith didn't blush, but she did start to frown. In her current shape she really couldn't beat the demon. Not that she had been able to before, but now she didn't think she could even defend herself, or run away. "You want something?"

Ozymandius sighed. "Well, truthfully, I'm missing my witch. I know she's around somewhere, and I was hoping Spike could find her."

"Yeah, because you two are just so friendly."

"Actually, you'd be surprised. I mean, sure, he's killed me a couple times, but he knows that it won't stick. He knows how to actually kill me, if he wanted to—that's how he rescued Drusilla from me, after all."

Faith's eyebrows went up. "What?"

"Oh, yeah. Those were the days. He just wants me to suffer because he's mad at me for staying in Sunnydale after I promised I'd leave if he helped me with the hellhound."

"Why haven't you left?" asked Faith. "If Spike knows how to kill you and all?"

"Because I'm sort of at loose ends now. I mean, I'm not compelled to go around killing any more. Now what?"

"I'd love to be sympathetic, but I'm still compelled to go around killing your kind."

Ozymandius sighed. "Yeah, ain't that the breaks?"

Faith eyed him, still unsure. "You tried to kill me."

"Hey, you guys came after me! And then, the other night, in the cemetery, I was just there to talk to Spike, okay?"

"And the massacre crack?"

Ozymandius shrugged. "It was a joke about his chip."

"You have an odd sense of humor," said Faith. "You said you were there to kill me. And Angel."

"I was trying to get him to be more on my side. I thought that he would like that--thought it was what he wanted!" The big demon must have realized he was contradicting himself left and right, but he clearly didn't care.

"You mean, basically you were just trying to stall Spike so he didn't kill you." The demon nodded, and she rolled her eyes. "You're as bad as him. You both try to get out of the trouble you're in, and dig yourself deeper with your big fat mouths." She was talking about his current stupid explanation as much as his running of the mouth last night, but he didn't appear to realize that.

Ozymandius turned away, then turned back. "If you see Spike, tell him I've headed for Paraguay, okay?"

"Sure."

"Oh, and tell him that I'm sorry I messed up his big plans. Whatever they were."

"He planned to kill me and Angel," said Faith, trying to fight down the feelings of betrayal. She should have known, should have known! "I don't think he had any plans beyond that."

"Oh. Well, I'm sure he'll get over it. You're still alive, right?"

Faith shrugged. "Somehow, I don't believe you'll just go away."

Ozymandius hesitated, and in the morning light the lattice-work of scars on his face took on a sinister look. "Well, there's more to it than that, of course. Spike's killing me—that was a reminder that he could finish me. He was warning me to get out of town before he finished me off."

Faith raised her eyebrows. "Town's too small for the two of you?" Her head was swimming to much to follow all this.

"That and..." Ozymandius looked around. "Word is that the lawyers sent one of the big boys down. I'm not gonna square off against one of those, not for Spike, not for anybody."

He left, and Faith started walking for her hotel room. About halfway there she realized that it probably wasn't the best place to go right now.

She turned and started limping towards her Watchers' hotel room.

* * *

Gissard paced quietly, watching Quayle finish tying the girl down. "She should be home," he muttered. "She should be HERE."

Quayle glanced up. "Er...Gissard, should we call her friends?"

Gissard shook his head. "No. The less Giles is involved, the better."

"Er, why?"

"He's too smart. He'd see through the two of us, given time. I mean, two Watcher's for one Slayer? He's gotta know we wouldn't do that. Gotta know what we're really all about."

Quayle nodded unhappily. "It's too bad about Peter. He was good."

"Not good enough. And because he got killed, they sent in the next best thing. A wizard to watch the Slayer." He pulled out Spike's lighter, flicking it open. "Have I mentioned yet what a phenomenally bad idea this is? She saw right off that the only reason I'm here is because I'm all you have that could take her down."

"The execution squad failed badly."

"So they sent a failed ex-villain to watch over her." Gissard flicked the lighter, sparking a small flame. He stared into it, watching as it turned green under his gaze. He glanced at the witch. "I wonder if she realizes just how dangerous you are, Quayle?"

Quayle bristled. "You just keeping playing loud," he said quietly. "Take the focus off me. I'll do my job."

Faith stumbled in the door, clutching her bloody throat. "I was sure that was locked," mused Gissard calmly, flicking the lighter shut with a loud click.

Faith glanced back at the door. "Then I guess you need a new door," she deadpanned, leaning back against the wall. She glanced at Mary. "Well, no wonder he couldn't find her."

"Oh, yes," said Gissard. "We had a busy night last night without you. With Angelus we fought Ozymandius. Angelus drank his blood and then kicked his butt—specifically in that order. We looked for you, but couldn't find you. Angelus advised us not to try to approach Spike, which I thought was odd." He examined her throat. "Unless they were in cahoots again."

"What?" said Faith, touching her neck. "No, um, he probably thought I was sleeping with Spike again."

"Again?" queried Gissard. Quayle's eyes widened.

Faith sneered at them. "Yeah, again. Good lay, too. You have some bandages or something? Maybe some food?"

Gissard glanced at Mary, who was still unconscious. "Yes, I believe we do," he said quietly. He glanced at Quayle. "I do take heart from the fact that you didn't need an invitation."

Faith shrugged. "Whatever." She had more important worries right now, anyway.

Quayle stood, heading for the bathroom. "In here."

Gissard flipped the lighter into his pocket, following Faith. "I'm going to ask you a question, and it's going to sound a little judgmental. Please bear with me, though, as I think it's important. Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

Faith glared at him as Quayle lifted a cotton swab, and tilted her neck to give him access. "I dunno, witchy-man. What do you think?"

Gissard put his hands on the doorframe. "I think you're headstrong, and rebellious. Stupidity never crossed my mind, but it comes to mind seeing you here, right now, with vampire bites on your neck."

Faith closed her eyes, scowling. "Watch it," she hissed as Quayle swabbed at her neck. She opened her eyes, meeting Gissard's cool gaze. "You really have no idea what's going on with the two of us. And you have no idea what this wound means."

Gissard frowned. "Enlighten me."

"It's none of your business."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. But it's a vampire bite. That sort of makes it a good Watcher's business." He looked down, taking the lighter out of his pocket and flipping it open, then back closed. "You don't have to tell me anything that you don't want to. But Spike, William the Bloody, has no chip, and a soul that didn't stop him from biting you."

Faith closed her eyes.

She'd woken up alive, which was so much more than she'd expected. She'd gone there to confront him, with a stake in her pocket.

He'd attacked her with a strength she couldn't resist, and he'd gone for her throat.

She should have been dead.

So why was she still alive? Why had he stopped? Why hadn't he finished the job?

The questions made her head ache, and no matter how she looked at it, she couldn't understand why she was alive. If he was willing to bite her, why not go all the way and kill her?

Leaving her alive just left him in more danger.

Quayle applied the bandage. "I still have most of breakfast on the stove," he offered hesitantly.

Faith nodded, heading for the kitchen.

"Quayle, stay with our guest," ordered Gissard, following Faith. "Have a seat," he told Faith, moving to the cupboard. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Faith glared at him as she sat down, biting back a sarcastic comment.

He put a plate in front of her with a pop tart on it. She glared at him, unimpressed.

He glanced to the stove. "Start with that, and I'll rustle some eggs." As he rummaged through the refrigerator silently, she watched his hands. They were long, elegant hands, unused to work.

Not at all like Spike's hard, callused hands.

Gissard sat down next to her, one eye on the stove. "Now, let's try a different angle. Is Spike still among the, er, undead?"

"As far as I know," muttered Faith, finishing off the pop-tart with a few quick bites, wolfing it down.

Gissard nodded. "Okay. And what do you plan to do?"

Faith swallowed. She glared at him, wishing she could ignore him. He blinked, then rubbed his eyes, looking very tired.

"That's all the answer I need, thanks," he said, sounding weary. "Do you know what Angelus will do when I tell him?"

"He'll stake Spike." Her voice sounded hollow and far away to her.

"You really care about the vampire, don't you?" asked Gissard, his voice even wearier. "God, what a mess." He glanced back at the door, then back to Faith. "Okay, I can tell you don't really trust me. And we really don't have any common ground at all here, and I really don't understand you in the slightest."

Faith struggled not to give away the overwhelming flood of anger that came with his words. Why was he telling her how messed up she was, how far from normal? "Well, thanks for that."

Gissard shrugged, getting up and crossing to the stove, taking the eggs off. "Just trying to be realistic here. I know you probably have a list of about three billion people you'd rather talk to, but I happen to be the one here. You want to talk to me, or try to tough it out?"

Faith blinked, surprised at his candor. "Not big on the talking," she muttered. Her temples were starting to pound.

He sighed, passing her the eggs. "I'm going to go try to question Mary about the spell she and Ozymandius were casting last night. It looked like some kind of –what?"

"I saw Ozymandius. He claimed to be harmless and heading to Paraguay."

"Mm," said Gissard, rubbing his chin. "How odd. Unless—he might have thought that Spike clued you in too."

"Clued me in to what?"

"His weaknesses. He told Angelus how to defeat Ozymandius."

Faith blinked; Gissard had mentioned that Angel kicked Ozymandius' butt once already, but hadn't mentioned Spike's role in it. "Spike told Angel that?" The puzzle that was whirling in her head exploded with the new information, falling apart as the picture she'd painted rang false again.

"Surprised me, too," said Gissard, finally managing to interpret one of her expressions correctly. "Angelus—"

"You call him that one more time, and I'll beat you down for the sheer joy of it. Angel."

Gissard raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "All right, Angel. Angel said the strangest thing."

"About Ozymandius or Spike?"

"About Spike. He said 'let him rest, let him get used to it.' Now, I thought that was about the soul, until Angel mentioned that he doesn't really have a soul."

"What?"

"He said that Spike had a spell done to obtain a soul only in order to steal his destiny—and that he did it in such a way that it wasn't supposed to effect him at all."

"Huh? A soul without a soul?"

Gissard smiled. "Not exactly the easiest of concepts. Anyway, Angel knew that, but he said to let him rest."

Faith looked away. "Who knows."

* * *

Spike considered Tara as she worked. "You know, I don't think a woman has ever really loved me."

Tara looked at him in surprise, but didn't say anything.

"Sure, there was Drusilla for so long. But she didn't love me," said Spike sadly. "She used me. Enabler." He wrapped his mouth around the world, wincing at the taste. "That's what I was for her. Nothing more. And I loved her so much. And Buffy. She...she wasn't like Dru. I wasn't her enabler. She didn't love me...so she told me she didn't love. At least she never led me on, at least there's that." He barked a laugh.

Tara continued preparing the potion, glancing back up at him from time to time.

"Harmony thought she loved me, but she was just lusting for me," said Spike. "I could tell. And that's my sum total of experience with women." He sighed, sitting down. "And I didn't think it mattered, not so long ago. But it does, doesn't it?"

"Love," murmured Tara. She turned, leaving her preparations behind. For a second she looked ready to say something, and Spike turned away from her, waiting. "W-why is love so important to you?" she asked Spike.

He sat there, facing the wall, and thought about it. "I don't know. I'm just a bloody romantic at heart, I guess."

Tara swallowed, nodding. "T-true love conquers all. That's what the storybooks say. People like you and me know it's not true--if you want true love, you have to do the conquering yourself.."

Spike chuckled, turning back to her. "You really are a smart bird, aren't you?" She smiled. "I don't know what to do, besides this."

"I-I think you should talk to Faith."

Spike shook his head, grimacing. "When I see her again, I think she'll finally be ready to stake me. I proved once and for all that I couldn't be trusted—I proved once and for all that even I couldn't trust myself."

"And now you have to do this." Her voice was too soft; she still wasn't sure about stripping away the latticework of protections inside his chest.

"I'm not even sure where I belong," said Spike darkly. "I wanted for so long to go back to being evil, but then I found out that I couldn't. Do you know why? It wasn't because I got used to doing good, or because I could hear Buffy. It was because I couldn't think of an excuse good enough. I always knew what I was doing was wrong, but I always had an excuse. I got here, to the end, I bit Faith...and I was all out of excuses."

Tara nodded quietly. "I think you're doing the right thing."

"If I turn into a poofter like Angel, just stake me," begged Spike. Tara just smiled at that comment.

"I need you to take off your shirt."

"Oh, if I had a nickel for every time a girl said that," he sighed, stripping off his T-shirt. She smiled again.

"Why do you always make me laugh?"

"Same reason the whelp does," said Spike, grimacing. He didn't like the comparison. Tara scooped up a handful of rancid slime, and slathered it across his chest in a vaguely S-shaped pattern.

"What reason is that?" asked Tara, trying to distract him now while she began the hard part.

"When you make a joke, you don't have to let the person any closer," said Spike.


	17. Angel's wings

Disclaimer: I own nothing

--

Faith and Angel wandered through the cemetery silently, not speaking. There wasn't really anything to say at this point.

Angel was already recovering from the anger. They'd already gone by Spike's crypt, one of them to stake Spike, the other to save him from a staking.

And he hadn't been there. Which was fortunate, as it had put off a fight between the two vampires, which was inevitable, and a fight between Angel and Faith, which both of them were afraid of.

Angel hadn't asked any questions yet, because he knew he wouldn't like the answers.

Faith hadn't answered the questions she knew he had, because she knew he wouldn't like them.

"So, Ozymandius lied to me," said Faith awkwardly.

"How about that," said Angel stiffly, going along with the little walk around the conversation they both didn't want to have.

"Yeah. I think probably he'll be back. I'm told you know how to beat him up now."

"Yeah, it's a vampire thing. I drank his blood, and now I can hurt him."

"Gissard said Spike knows how to kill him for good."

"Yeah, it sort of came out last night when Ozymandius realized Spike had really betrayed him, not just beating on him."

They both registered then that the topic had shifted to Spike, and both of them shut up at the same time.

Angel turned to watch Faith, stopping stock still. "I think we ought to talk," he said stiffly, steeling himself for the conflict to come. He couldn't skirt the issue any more, no matter how it hurt him.

"Just don't want to have the talk because it'll be about Spike, eh?" asked Faith snippily, not turning to face him.

"Spike's ..." Angel trailed off. "Screw Spike, let's not talk about Spike, then, if you don't want to and I don't want to. Let's talk about you." His voice was much more level now.

"He didn't kill me. He had me, and he was drinking my blood, but he didn't kill me and I don't know why." Her voice was filled with misery, and for a second Angel felt like a heel.

"Why'd you go to him?" he asked, cutting to the heart of the matter.

"I couldn't stay away," said Faith simply. She couldn't enumerate the other reasons, couldn't explain how angry she had been that he would turn around and try to kill her. She couldn't explain how much it had burned in her, the desire to make him stay good for a while more, the desire to keep him at her side.

And it was too true. Every day the compulsion to see Spike had been there, even when he was gone. It wasn't just the sex that oozed out of every pore of his body. Even when he was hating her and fighting her, he was somehow the one thing she was clinging to.

She thought that she might be falling in love with him, and it scared her.

"Hm," said Angel. He closed his eyes, running a hand through his unnatural hair. "You know, Slayer blood—and I speak from experience here—is pretty heady stuff."

"Do tell," Faith said sarcastically. "I knew Buffy let you tap a vein for that whole poison I hit you with, but I don't think I ever heard your side."

"It's powerful." The words came haltingly to him; this was something he had never talked about. Not with anybody. "I didn't want to stop. If it had been anybody but Buffy, I'm not sure I could have stopped. So, yeah, I'd say it means an awful lot that you're still alive." He sighed. "I just wish I knew exactly what it meant."

Faith chuckled. "Yeah, me too."

Angel smiled, and Faith could see some relief in his eyes. "We can work it out."

* * *

Faith found Gissard and Quayle when she stopped by their hotel room at dawn to give them a report on slaying the night before. She ran into as soon as she saw that the door had been kicked open.

The place was a mess, and both Gissard and Quayle were on the floor. She fought down the bad memories that arose and crossed to Gissard, checking his pulse.

It was strong and steady, and she rose, glancing at Quayle. She could see his chest rising and falling now that she was closer, and she felt relieved, but not too much.

She looked around, searching for Mary. Finding the hostage gone she started brewing some tea for when the two Watchers woke up.

When they woke up she'd already managed to burn water.

She scowled at them, helping them up. "What happened?" she asked Gissard.

"Ugh," he groaned, blinking. "A, a priest," he said, wiping his face. "He..." He looked around. "Oh, god, we're in trouble again. Quayle!"

The other Watcher scowled, clutching his head. "It was Ozymandius, he took us by storm.

Faith remembered Spike's friend from the night Spike had killed the Gwinn- impersonator. The priest had, she recalled, threatened Angel. "What else?"

"I, I don't know. We opened the door and the priest was there, I told him to come in. We were talking, just small talk, and then Ozymandius kicked the door open," said Gissard. "I tried to cast a spell, but the priest hit me from behind."

"What?" said the other Watcher. "I didn't see that. Ozymandius hit me."

"The priest is Spike's friend," said Faith bitterly. "You got a phone?"

Gissard stared at her. "Who're you going to call?" he asked, pointing.

Faith grabbed the phone and started dialing. "Angel carries a cell phone," she said, dialing from memory. "We'll find Mary before she can rendezvous with Spike and Ozymandius."

"Oh," said Gissard, letting the idea settle in his mind.

"Angel? Yeah, it's me. Remember that priest? Yeah, Spike's gang. Yeah, he took Mary from the Watchers last night. No, I don't. Yeah. I'll bring them to the mansion. Sorry." She turned the phone off, glancing to them. "Well, come on, do you need anything?"

"Breakfast," muttered Quayle. "Aspirin."

* * *

Faith and Angel entered Spike's crypt, weapons in hand. "Crap!" spat Angel. "He hasn't been here."

"He hasn't?" asked Faith.

"Not since he left you here yesterday," said Angel, touching his nose.

"What spell was Ozymandius working on the other day?" asked Faith, searching the room quickly.

"That's the really worrisome part. It looked like he was... tapping."

"Tapping?"

"You know, tapping into the Hellmouth. Drawing on a higher power to supercharge himself."

"You can tell that from the look?" asked Faith, sending Angel an odd glance.

"No, the twenty-something hours of research I've done since then." There was an edge to his words, but Faith let it pass by her.

Faith kicked the bed, smashing it against the wall. "So he's supercharging, so your little trick isn't going to work on him again."

"He was telling the truth about coming back to kill us. And about wanting to start a massacre. Spike was trying to stop him—trying to get him to go somewhere else to start his massacre. Why?"

Faith's head was pounding, but she tried to focus. "I don't know."

"Same reason Spike didn't drain you. He tried to be good, but he wasn't. Not really. And he tried to be bad, but he wasn't. Not really."

"So he's trapped in the middle?" asked Faith, frustrated. "What about the priest?"

"I'm not sure," admitted Angel. "But vampires and priests don't get on well. Maybe we're making the wrong assumption, here. Maybe the priest wasn't Spike's friend. Maybe he was Ozymandius' friend."

"And maybe Spike hasn't planned this supercharger for Ozzy the whole time?" asked Faith skeptically. "Maybe he has. You said it yourself, he's not really good. We see him, can we afford not to lay the smackdown on him?"

Angel sighed, looking around the crypt. Where Faith had knocked the bed out of place he noted a box, and he crouched over it, examining the contents.

"What's that?" asked Faith, moving closer.

"Just some of Spike's stuff." He examined the jumble of items. A dagger, a stake, a book of poetry that he quietly stuffed into a coat pocket. Underneath it a newspaper, crumpled up. A sweater—a quick sniff confirmed it was Buffy's—and at the bottom, under everything else, a bottle of whiskey.

Angel shrugged, standing up. "No clues." As they moved to leave he sniffed, noticing a strange smell. As he looked for the source he noticed a book in the darkest corner of the crypt, the same place Spike had thrown the book of poetry Angel had taken from him earlier. Angel went to pick it up.

It was the journal that Spike had shown him. He opened it, noting that the front page was unchanged.

"What's that?" asked Faith.

"Journal," said Angel shortly, flipping through the pages.

It was the back page where he found the note. He read it twice, then glanced to Faith. "That's...interesting." He handed it to Faith, who frowned.

"What is this?" she asked, examining the cryptic language.

"I was hoping you'd understand it."

She examined it carefully, searching for the meaning in the words. After a moment it began to hurt her head. "It's meaningless," she said. "Lust and wings and—is this poetry?"

He frowned, examining it. "William," he muttered.

"What?"

"The poetry. He's getting into the poetry again. The soul isn't as dormant as I thought." He examined it. "It's still pretty bad," he admitted.

"It's not poetry," said Faith. "Not really. It doesn't rhyme, and it's nonsense, and it's ... some kind of blood?"

Angel examined the ink, sniffing. "Well, yeah," he said. "He wrote it in pig's blood."

Faith frowned. "Never bad enough..."

Angel examined it, frowning. "This is pretty obvious stuff. His use of the metaphor has been strong..."

"Pretty obvious? It's babble. Pure and simple.

"No. It's... well, William was well-read, at the least. He knew how to write."

_'Wild and free  
hard and closed  
the blood takes wing  
soars above.'_

Angel considered that, standing up and moving away from Faith as he tried to make sense of the poetry. "He hasn't gotten all that better over the years, but he's clearly borrowing from some more contemporary folks--he's been keeping up with poetry? Layers."

"Wait, Spike writes poetry?" asked Faith, disturbed.

"No. William wrote poetry. Spike is...well, he's functionally illiterate."

Faith frowned, scrunching her face up. "What's that supposed to mean? I mean, if he could write before—?"

"I said functionally," replied Angel. "He refuses to read, or write. Refused. I mean, when it was an emergency he could dive into it, but he really tried to stay away from reading... at all."

_'Strange lusts  
trapping me  
old lusts  
trapping me  
either way,  
trapped.'  
_  
Angel frowned, rubbing his forehead. "You don't really want to 'lay the smackdown' on Spike, do you?"

"Yeah, I do," said Faith defiantly. "I mean, not for biting me, but for this thing with Ozymandius, lying to us."

Angel returned to the poetry.

_'Never good enough.  
Never bad enough.  
Man or animal,  
Soaring on borrowed Angel's wings.'_

"The soul is manifesting itself. I don't understand this. It must be scratching through the bubble spell they cast on him."

"What does this mean?" asked Faith, invading Angel's personal space to get a look a the poem. "Borrowed wings?"

"Well, he didn't misplace this apostrophe. William wouldn't... Angel's wings is singular. Making Angel a proper name... meaning me. Borrowed wings means my soul. "

"What does all this mean, though?" This frustrated her. What kind of poetry was it, anyway? Couldn't they just say what they meant, and never mind this fractured talk?

"Never good enough, never bad enough," said Angel darkly. "I got that part. I do know."

"So, a soul. So what?"

Angel sniffed the air. "I think I can follow his scent," he said, stuffing the poem into his pocket. "From when he left you. It's still on the air."

"What do we do if he wasn't part of Ozymandius' plan?" asked Faith, not asking why Angel hadn't tried following the scent yesterday, when he was still all charged up about killing Spike.

Angel shrugged uncomfortably, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I don't know. We'll burn that bridge when we get to it. Come on."

They headed out of the crypt, and Angel wandered towards the street, sniffing the air. Faith looked up, frowning. "Tonight is probably when Ozymandius will be doing it."

Angel growled. "He's heading for Buffy's house."

"But if he went there...we told Dawn! When she went to school today! And, Willow! They wouldn't take him in and say nothing to us—would they?"

Angel considered the hasty question. "One of the scoobies, lie and keep secrets to protect one of their own? Are you forgetting what happened when I came back from hell?"

Faith thought about it, and sighed. "Of course they'd lie to protect Spike."

They started jogging forward then, remembering that Spike had bitten Faith, and consequently couldn't be trusted not to bite anybody else.

"They know the chip is out!" snarled Angel. "They should have uninvited him! I should have reminded them to uninvited him!"

Faith broke into a run. "He's had all morning and all day and all of this evening! Alone in a house with defenseless humans!" She wanted to defend him, to say he wouldn't touch them, but she couldn't, not now. Not in the face of what he had done to her.

As they rushed over the lawn Angel didn't hesitate, charging up the steps and kicking the door open. They rushed inside to find Tara sitting calmly on the couch, facing the TV, a mug in her hand. She took a sip, considering them.

"Tara!" said Angel urgently. "Where's Willow and Dawn?"

Tara watched them calmly, but Faith could see Tara's pinky, clutched around the mug, whiten as her grip tightened. "I-I sent them to the Magic Box."

Angel sniffed, recognizing the tell-tale signs of magic. "William was here. He ... he came here for magic. Did Willow give him what he wanted?" He looked worried again.

"D-dawnie and Willow never knew he was here," said Tara. The cup in her hand had started shaking now. Understanding flooded Angel.

"Did he threaten Dawn? Or Willow? What did he make you do?" asked Angel.

Spike stepped out of the basement, behind Angel. "Peaches?" he said, confused.

"Spike!" said Angel, whirling defensively. Spike was looking at him oddly, but Angel didn't take time to understand it. He leapt forward, kicking at Spike.

Spike dodged before he could make contact, spinning away from him into the living room. He dove past Tara, behind the couch, and didn't come out.

Tara took a sip of whatever she was drinking; maybe some kind of tea, from the smell, Faith thought. Angel crouched, moving forward. Faith moved in from the other direction, stalking towards the couch.

Tara eyed them both, then got up off the couch, moving to the chair.

"All right, Spike, you can come out now," said Angel. His eyes were yellow now, and his face was starting to change away from human, revealing his true self and drawing forth all his strength.

"What if I don't want to?" Spike asked sullenly.

"Then we come in and stake you," said Angel.

"We want answers," said Faith quickly, trying to sound as tough as Angel sounded, trying not to show all her doubts and fears.

"Sod off," muttered Spike. "Couldn't be bothered to help me out when I needed it most, and now you want help? Where were you this morning!"

Faith and Spike exchanged a confused glance.

Tara sipped her tea. "Spike," she said softly, but her voice was like steel, and there was a warning there.

"I tried!" snarled Spike. "I tried to do this the nice way! But they don't want to play nice, they never wanted to play nice, they just want to play their nice game of kick the Spike and break me some more! I'm done being broken!"

Angel raised his eyebrows, glancing to Tara. "Um...?"

She shrugged, sipping her tea.

"Broken is as broken does!" spat Spike. "Because you break me all the way you want, but you can't reach me, not really. Because I put you out, I put you in your place, I kept you away from my heart! That's not really where I belong, but I went there anyway!"

Angel shook his head. "Spike, that's a good try. Really. But you aren't going to get out of this by going all Drusilla on us."

Spike was silent for a minute, then he popped up from behind the couch. "This isn't about me, is it?" he asked after a moment, relaxing. "I mean, I thought it was, but it's really not, not with both of you and no stakes. No, you came here for something else, something important. What is it?"

"Ozymandius," growled Faith. "And your priest."

Spike frowned. "I don't know the priest. Clem brought the priest."

Angel glanced at Tara, who was watching it all with an unruffled calm that was bordering on simply not caring. He didn't really know her that well, and had no idea what she was thinking, and he was amazed that she could watch this scene with that calmness. Didn't she know what was at stake here?

"Clem? Your demon friend who got bled?" asked Faith.

"Yeah."

Faith considered that for a second, keeping both eyes on Spike. "Think he knows where to find him?"

Spike watched her, blinking owlishly. He didn't say anything.

Angel struggled to hold down his temper. He wanted to kill Spike for biting Faith; he wanted to slap the witch for being so cold about this; and he wanted to yell at Faith for being so stupid, for trusting Spike. But right now he needed to keep his calm and take care of the imminent threat, the one that was threatening to end the world. "You're coming with us, Spike."

Spike stood up, tugging on the lapels of his coat. "Seems to me they're planning a party."

Tara watched him, glancing from him to the others. "You do realize he's insane, don't you?" she asked them, genuinely puzzled by their reactions to his actions.

Angel frowned as it suddenly all came together. The magic, the inane babbling, Spike ducking and running—even Tara's oblique reaction.

"Popped the bubble, mate," said Spike proudly.

Angel decided that it wouldn't stop him from killing Spike.


	18. The bubble spell

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Summary: Faith was called back to the Hellmouth and out of prison when Buffy died the second time. She and Spike got 'chummy.' Subsequently, he got rid of the chip, courtesy of Wolfram and Hart—or so he thought. He was also given a non-functional soul to steal Angel's Shanshu. He bit Faith, but spared her, and asked Tara to make his soul functional.

--

Angel and Faith stood, one on either side of Spike, facing the huge temple. "Wow," said Faith blankly. "It's like a huge underground shrine to insane architects."

"I think we're more or less under the school," mused Angel. "So this would be pretty near the Hellmouth. A perfect place to cast his tapping spell."

Spike just eyed the temple. "I did this, then, didn't I? I didn't want to turn away an old friend, and I stopped the woman who was trying to stop him. She was evil, too, but less evil. Or perhaps just not evil in her intent. It was certainly evil to kill her and mislead you—perhaps just the misleading you." He blinked, as if surprised by his ramblings. "Although I'm certain I don't feel sorry in the slightest for anything else, but that's just crazy talk."

Angel eyed Spike askance. "Are you ready to fix this, Spike?"

Spike nodded. "Yes, yes indeed," he replied. "Because fixing is the opposite of breaking and I'm not broken at all."

"Why is the soul making him all One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest?" asked Faith, already pretty upset by his rambling and unwilling to examine why.

"I don't know," said Angel, unable to keep his frustration out of his voice. "For me there was guilt...horror...and more guilt. His reaction—I have no idea why it's affecting him like this. I could understand despair, but this is...well, it's odd." He had never understood Spike as well as the younger vampire had understood him, but this was ... it was stranger than usual.

Spike gave him an angry look. "Oh, now you tell me. Thanks for that." He started marching forward, and the other two moved quickly to stay with him.

"I think I liked him better without a soul," said Faith.

"Bite your tongue," said Angel mildly. "I'd sooner face ten thousand crazy Spikes than one Spike with no soul and no chip. Did I tell you that he's had me at his mercy and inches from death on multiple occasions? I tell you, torturing me is on his top ten list."

Faith stared at Spike's shoulders, registering how much smaller he looked without the duster. "Did I tell you that after he bit me he left his jacket with me?"

"From a Slayer, for a Slayer," said Spike. "Bit of William there, inn't it?"

"Poetic justice, I think," said Angel. "And yeah, a little."

They entered the temple in silence. In the center of the large, cavernous room, Mary was working with a large paint brush, painting a pattern in the floor.

Ozymandius stood behind her, watching her work with a frown.

"Hey, I thought you were headed to Paraguay!" said Faith, still a little unsure as to what the ancient demon was really up to.

Spike let out a scream of anger, launching himself forward. Faith was surprised as his reaction, but Ozymandius simply batted him aside.

"Oh, that's funny," chuckled the demon. "You know, little girl, sometime along you'll have to learn how to control that mouth."

Angel charged forward, his mouth set. Ozymandius punched him, knocking him back down to the ground.

Faith advanced slowly, cautiously, not wanting to go down the way the vampires had. "I thought they could beat you after drinking your blood," she said, trying to gauge his powers.

"They can," said Ozymandius. "Ergo, this spell." He gestured downward. "With it, I'll be invincible—something I'm hoping will keep me safe, you know."

Spike struggled to his feet. "You told her Paraguay," he said, angrily.

Ozymandius shrugged. "I told her to tell you I was going to Paraguay. I meant it as a message--one it seems you never received, which is a crying shame. I thought it was a good code, too--after all, who else knew?"

"Nobody knew," hissed Angel, getting to his feet. "What didn't we know?"

"Paraguay," said Mary. "That would be the place where Ozymandius and Spike battled over Drusilla, when Ozymandius thought that she was what he needed for the spell. Not only was she not, but Spike won the day."

Ozymandius nodded. "Keep going, Mary. They won't stop us for long."

"Won't we?" asked Faith.

"We will," said Angel, moving closer. "We always do."

"Idiots," sneered Ozymandius. "I thought Spike was on my side at first, and that was a big mistake. But then I thought he was on your side, but he's obviously not. Come on, Spike." He faced the peroxide-blonde vampire. "You helped me out when I needed it, and you never stopped me when you had a chance. I mean, you had plenty of chances. You could have killed me—really killed—a dozen times now. It's obvious to me you're just playing at being good."

Spike's face changed, the demonic visage taking over. "I did that. It was me. But it wasn't me, you know, not the full me, not the real me. I don't think so, anyway." He stalked closer. "It was a me that was empty, a me that was searching. And I found it all, and discovered that I didn't like it. I taste of ashes, she told me, and now I know what ashes taste like. A bloody prophet, she was. I was doomed to this from the moment she first laid a fist on me. Doomed to explore the fullest extent of my own nature. Without the fullness, how could I see what I was missing? Now, what am I?"

Ozymandius stared at him. "You're battier than Drusilla!" exclaimed the white-haired demon, his scarred face stretching into a hideous grin.

"No," said Spike, putting a hand on either side of his head. "Not really. It was all so simple—not complex at all. Now it's all back, so real, so full." He lowered his arms. "You know what I hate about you? It's the hair, really. That and the fact that you could choose to be better, but you don't. You could have chosen a different route...but you didn't." He charged forward, kicking Ozymandius in the chest, a flying roundhouse that sent the larger demon staggering back.

Spike went to work silently, attacking the large demon with gusto. Ozymandius managed to defend himself, but barely. When Faith moved in, the large demon punched her, a hard punch that left him open.

Spike took advantage of it, leaping onto Ozymandius' back and sinking his fangs into his throat. The demon screamed.

Angel took this chance to go after the witch, leaping at her to try and stop the progression of the spell. She spun around, very fast, and when she hit him a shock of magic went through him, and it sent him flying backwards through the air across the underground temple, slamming him into a pillar with such force that he felt bones break deep in his chest.

Faith was behind Mary, though, and she jumped in low, kicking the girl's legs out from underneath her. As the witch fell Faith punched her in the face, a short, controlled punch.

Angel got up, trying to move quickly, even with broken ribs, and trotted off towards Ozymandius, who was trying to shake Spike off.

"Why?" demanded the big demon as Spike kicked him to the ground.

"Because I'm different," said Spike, grabbing the demon's chin. "Because I'm not going to play dead like you do, I'm actually going to change and adjust and live. Because you can't without a soul, can you? One track, and you're always stuck in it. Always moving in one direction, without a periscope to see the finish line." He smashed Ozymandius' head off the floor.

"How do we kill him?" asked Angel, trying to .

"You've got to treat him like a brother," said Spike.

Angel gave him an odd look. "Oookay..."

Spike gave him an irritated look. "Cut off his head, of course. You're so thick; I gave you that hint the other day, and you didn't even blink."

"He's not really insane," noted Faith, pausing in trying Mary up. "He just acts different."

Spike rolled his eyes. "The world goes crazy, and the lady calls me insane. The sky turns to purple, and what would they do? Laugh, probably, and call me insane. I'm not the insane one, I'm the one who's paying attention."

"You were saying?" Said Angel with a laugh.

"No, it's halfway coherent."

"Besides," said Spike. "I've a perfectly good excuse. Neither of you had your head stuffed back inside your chest with a spatula in the last day or so, did you?"

* * *

"Here we go, back at your crypt," said Faith, pushing Spike inside.

"You know, I always wondered what Angel had to be guilty about," said Spike. "I certainly don't have a lot. I mean, I killed people, but that was the game, you know. If I hadn't, I'd be dead. I am dead. Should I be deader? For real? To hell? Because I'm not really a Champion, I just stole that title. I've stolen a lot."

Faith closed the door, sealing the sun outside. "Yeah, well, I have too."

He blinked at her. "Because the soul doesn't make you automatically good; that's something that has to come after that."

"Everything you say makes sense; you're not really insane."

"No, not really," he agreed amiably. "I've just had so much stuffed into my head that it's bursting." He grimaced. "And most of it isn't good, you know."

"Well, my head isn't exactly filled with peaches and cream."

He blinked at her, surprised. "What've you done that's so bad?"

"I killed a man," she said. "Staked him in the heart."

Spike scoffed. "I used to stake them in the head with railroad spikes."

"I slept with Xander and stole his virginity."

Spike thought about that a second.

"I've got you there, haven't I?" asked Faith triumphantly.

"No, I used to rape virgins all the time," said Spike. "I just can't get over the fact that I've slept with someone who slept with Xander. That's like sleeping with him, once removed. My lips have touched lips that touched his... I ought to gargle with holy water."

Faith snorted. "You're insane," she told him.

"I thought that was the bloody point," he said. He looked around, fear in his eyes suddenly. "Bloody," he repeated again

Faith frowned. "What?" She asked.

He glared at her. "I bit you."

She nodded, accepting it. "Is that an apology?" she asked, teasing him.

"You shouldn't trust me," he said, retreating into the dark corner of the room. "I mean, I can't even trust me, and you're here."

"I could kick your butt."

"No, you couldn't," he replied. "I got you before."

"You're overconfident."

"You're still weak," he replied, and she considered that. She was still weak from blood loss, weak from his bites.

She marched forward into the corner, confronting him. "What are you afraid of?" she asked defiantly, her eyes flashing.

"Hurting you," he said miserably. "It just about killed me before."

She took hold of him, a hand on his arm. "But you didn't kill me," she insisted, positive it meant something.

He shook his head. "I failed when it counted," he said, but he sounded less sure of himself.

She let her hand on his arm explore the graceful curve of his bicep, gently caressing his cold, soft skin. He shuddered, trying to step back, but she held tight, leaning into him.

For a moment he resisted, but then he touched the top of her head with a gentle hand, smoothing her hair. "We shouldn't," he said. "It just makes things worse and more complicated."

But he was already pulling her into his embrace, and she pushed gently towards the bed. As they landed on the bed there was a faint crackle, and he froze.

They'd landed on his leather duster.

He stared at it for a moment, and she could see guilt in his eyes now, a guilt that hadn't been there before. "From a Slayer," he muttered, shaking free of her grasp.

He was out the door before she could even get off the bed.

She stared out after, feeling a dull hollow ache in the pit of her stomach.

Angel thought he understood why she was so drawn to Spike, but she was wrong. It wasn't because he made her feel alive. It was because he was noble enough that he'd pushed her away the first time. It was because even when he left her feeling like a heel she knew it wasn't really about her.

It was, as much as anything, because he didn't really want her. She had to be honest with herself here. The challenge of meeting someone who kept trying to push her away excited her.

She heard someone at the door and sat up, hoping that it was Spike. But it wasn't--the tall vampire who came through the door might be related, but he wasn't Spike, and she was surprised to be disappointed to see Angel. That was a first.

He frowned at her. "I dropped off the witch with your Watchers—the wizard kept calling me Angel. Over and over again. Why—?"

Faith shrugged, sitting up. "Spike ran out on me again."

Angel frowned, glancing at the duster. "I see. Any particular reason...?"

Faith sighed, rubbing her eyes. "Why do you do that?" she asked, annoyed.

"Because if I just say, 'you idiot, he's extremely fragile right now,' you'll probably hit me," replied Angel.

"Stop sounding so superior."

"Any time now," he replied. "Don't expect miracles, Faith."

She shook her head, leaning back. "It's amazing that B can get that kind of blind faithfulness in a man," she said bitterly.

"Spike's always been like that," said Angel, sitting down on the bed beside her. "I mean, he was like that with a crazy vampire who never really loved him back. It's part of his charm. I really don't know what to make of him stealing my mojo." He glanced at Faith. "I mean, on the one hand I hate him a lot right now. I've worked for that Shanshu."

"Gesundheit."

"You know what I mean," said Angel, losing his cool for a second as irritation crept into his voice.

"I do," she admitted unhappily.

Angel sighed, rubbing his temples. "Do me a favor and keep an eye on him, okay?"

"Why don't you?" asked Faith, not wanting to be close to Spike again. Not so soon.

"I need to find out who this lawyer is that Ozymandius was so worried about. And deal with Harmony." He sighed. "Look at this. One hundred years later, and I'm still cleaning up Spike's messes."

"I don't want to watch him," said Faith sullenly.

"Okay," said Angel. He stood up. "That's fine." He turned to look at her. "He slept with you and bit you within twenty-four hours; I can certainly understand your reluctance to follow him around. I can find someone else."

Faith stared at Angel as he departed. "I'm sorry," she said. He hesitated, looking back, and she could see weariness behind his eyes. "I know this isn't easy for you either." She knew that with Buffy dead he was in his own personal hell, a place he had hoped never to be in, a place he had known he would reach eventually. He was immortal; unless he managed to get himself killed first, it was inevitable he would outlive Buffy.

"I'll survive," he said softly. "Just make sure you survive too."


	19. Resurection

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy and UPN and WB and a whole bunch of others own all the characters. I own nothing, and made no profit from their use.

Summary: Ah, I almost can't keep track...Spike has a soul, his chip is inactive, but Wolfram and Hart now hold the key to his chip.

* * *

Xander kicked at the cemetery's flawless lawn angrily. "Oh, sure," he said. "Pick the human guy to babysit him. Pick the one he doesn't like and could snack on, and in his crazy state, just might."

Spike glanced at him from his position prone on his belly atop a mausoleum. "Could you be quiet? I'm trying to think!" he hissed coldly.

"Oh, sure. I'll be quiet while you plan your next massacre," said Xander, fingering the cross around his neck.

Spike stared out into the night, renumbering the sins he was sorry for. He couldn't count more than ten, and most of them in the last week, and at least one of them was, technically, a good deed. He supposed he'd probably gotten a defective soul. Wasn't that just the way of things?

Spike, the stupid vampire, tries to be better, but picks up a worn out soul from Wolfram and Hart, one that doesn't really work even after it's been squashed into his head with all the subtlety of a Mack truck squashing a mouse.

At least he was getting over the overwhelming part, now. The part where everything seemed so far away and funny, while everything he felt was so raw and disturbing.

The part where his insides pulsed with a raw need to cry, just because Buffy was gone.

Angel hadn't said that your grief grew so intense, or that all of a sudden everything in the world would be a bright Technicolor rainbow of things that seemed to all have some hidden meaning, if you could just puzzle them out.

And Spike didn't really have the attention span to puzzle them out. He was still trying to fit his head around new concepts like Xander. And since when was Xander a new concept?

The soul was supposed to keep him from feeding, wasn't it? Maybe he should test that out on Xander.

Because the soul certainly didn't seem to be bothered at all by the idea of making Xander a snack.

Wasn't it supposed to be some moral guiding light? It wasn't guiding him at all. In fact, it seemed kind of happy with the idea of snacking on Xander. No wonder there were so many human serial killers if this was all the good a soul was.

He glanced again at Xander, listening to the whelp's heart beat a slow, steady rhythm of death. Would it be so bad?

Xander shifted uncomfortably, aware of Spike's gaze. Sometimes he was the only one who noticed, Spike remembered. The only one who realized that Spike was thinking about how much fun it would be to eat them all. The only one who _saw_.

Xander took a stake out of his back pocket. "Whatever you're thinking, stop it," he said nervously.

"Or else what?" asked Spike, amused. And what would Angel, and his precious quest for redemption, make of this? Surely Angel didn't have to deal with this, this nagging need to drink from Xander, with no real reason not to. Or maybe he did, and that was why he was so broody, to keep from eating Xander.

Xander took a deep breath, readying himself.

Spike stared at the man he hated so much. Why did he hate Xander so much? Oh, let's count the ways...

"I blame you!" spat Spike, his words like poison. "For Buffy's death!" he added, the words almost unnecessary here, between two men who always knew the subtext was Buffy. Always Buffy.

"I blame you!" Xander shot back.

"You dragged her down with your poisonous humanity!" snarled Spike. "You judged her in so many ways, made her feel wrong for doing what came naturally! You dragged her down every day into your mundanity, and you killed her!"

"You dragged her down into the darkness!" Xander replied, his voice so much burned ashes and poison on his tongue. "You poisoned her with your love, the love of a murdering, soulless thing!"

"Your love was a weight on her heart!" scoffed Spike.

"Your love was a weight on her soul!" accused Xander.

They stared at each other, the hatred in the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

Spike broke first, turning away with an oath.

Was this a soul, then, to have even the whelp's words cut so deep? So far all the soul seemed to be was a deepening, a broadening of every pain he'd ever felt. Even Drusilla's betrayals weighed on his mind.

And how did Angel deal with all the pain, anyway?

And why did it always come back to Angel? Spike jumped down off the mausoleum to his feet, kicking the ground viciously, then turned and slammed a hand into the tree beside him.

He swung again, the wet impact as his knuckles snapped like twigs and his hand exploded in pain clearing his head. Panting, he rested his head against the tree.

Xander stared. "Feel better now?" he asked.

"It was an evil tree!" snarled Spike. "Deserved what it got." He sighed, wrapping his arms around the tree to hold himself up. "Okay, let's go back to my crypt."

Xander walked behind him, still holding the stake. Spike tried to focus, but the best he could do not to stumble. "And why you, anyway?" asked Spike.

"Giles was busy, Tara was busy, Willow was busy, we didn't trust Dawn, and Anya said she'd sooner give CPR to a dead fish," replied Xander. "Who else?"

Spike thought about that a moment. What about Faith, he wanted to ask, but he knew better than to ask it. And he knew the witches weren't that busy. They were more scared of him--almost as scared as Anya was. Most of them remembered him without the chip.

But that fleeting thought of Faith distracted him from murderous thoughts about the Scoobies. She was on his mind now, a memory of a night together and the way she'd kept trying, kept trying to reach through to him—the memory of her refusing to stake him crept into his mind. She was the only one who had trusted him.

Of course he had betrayed that trust. That was what he was, what he had become.

Biting her had felt so good, in the moment, better than sleeping with her had.

And now it actually caused him pain to remember. More pain than remembering sleeping with her.

They reached his crypt, and Xander's face registered surprise at seeing Faith sitting on top of it. She was wearing Spike's duster, which caused Spike's face to harden.

She had to be doing it to deliberately rub his face in what he was, what he had done. To remind him that her sacred calling was to kill him.

Well, sod that.

"Sacred callings aren't all they're cracked up to be, eh?" asked Spike.

Xander gave him an odd look. "You set him off again," he accused Faith.

"Don't give me too much credit," said the dark Slayer, and Xander took in the coat.

"You stole Spike's coat!" He hesitated at the funny look on her face. "I don't know whether to be outraged or gleeful, I really don't," he admitted.

Faith hopped down, the coat billowing out like a cloak around her.

It was surprising how well the coat fit. It felt as if it had been tailored for someone about her size. Which left her wondering exactly how Spike was able to pull the look off so well.

Didn't matter.

"It's not my coat," said Spike coldly. "It never was. I could pretend it was me, it was mine, but it was just the demon within, trying to make believe we still had Angelus among is, within us." He hesitated. "But it was a really good fight," he said wistfully.

Faith eyed him. "Still working on those coherence issues, eh?"

"What?" said Xander, honestly confused. "This is more sense than he's made in years!" She gave him a flat, disbelieving look. "No, I've understood every word he said."

Faith blinked at him, then shrugged. It made no difference to her.

"How did I come to be here? Darla would kill herself laughing if she could see me and Angel now," said Spike, still thinking about the Slayer he had killed.

Faith shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."

"Oh, I know, back from the dead and all that rot," dismissed Spike. "Got set on fire by Angel. Dru gave me the lowdown on that."

"Oh," said Faith, relieved. "So you know Angel slept with her."

Xander and Spike stared at her, then collapsed into a fit of giggles.

"D-darla..." snorted Spike, wrapping an arm around Xander's shoulders to hold himself up. "The great poof s-slept with Darla!"

Xander kept laughing. "And—and it wasn't perfect happiness!"

The giggles turned into belly-laughing, and Faith stared at the two of them, blinking. She really couldn't understand what this was all about.

"You guys are flat off your rockers, you know," said Faith conversationally.

About that time Spike finally realized that he had a second point of commonality with Xander. He'd always known their feelings for Buffy were roughly mirrored, but he'd never quite made the connection with Angel. "Oy!" said Spike, standing to attention suddenly and giving a mock salute. "I call this meeting of the Angel-is-a-stupid-poof-with-stupid-hair club to order! Mister President!"

"Medals for everybody!" said Xander gleefully. "Angel slept with Darla and kept the soul because he wasn't happy anyway! Break out the good root beer!"

* * *

Angel grabbed Harmony as she exited the butcher's shop. She let out a shriek, clutching the paper bag to her chest, then relaxed when she saw it was him.

"Oh! Angel! You scared me."

"Harmony," he said coolly.

"What do you want?" she asked. "I've got some really good pig's blood—really fresh!" Angel glared at her, with his best intimidating glare. She wilted immediately. "Or maybe you'd like it fresh from the vein?" she offered meekly, offering him her wrist.

"I need to know what Wolfram and Hart is planning," he said quietly.

"Well, duh?" She smacked her forehead theatrically with one hand. "Ow. That hurt. Vampire strength." She rubbed her sore forehead. "I don't know anything about that any more, Angel! I switched sides! I'm Spike's minion again."

Angel blinked. "You switched sides?" It wasn't that she was capable of treachery that surprised him; it was that she was turning against the more evil of the two.

She nodded triumphantly. "Yep, I'm back at my blondie bear's side! Stand by your man and all that—even if he rejected me before for Drusilla. And Buffy. And..." Her lower lips quivered, and she leapt forward, grabbing Angel in a sloppy hug and dropping the pig's blood to the ground as she wailed her sorrows into his chest.

Suddenly this information gathering seemed like a very poor idea to Angel.

* * *

Deep below the earth, in the underground temple, the mercenary dressed as a priest stood on top of the half-finished incantation, reading it carefully. Ozymandius' headless body lay nearby, but he ignored it completely.

"Looking for something?" asked a low, baritone voice. The priest looked up to see a young man with long, black hair hanging down his back.

"Er, yes," he said. "I was just looking for—" He stopped, staring at the man, then nodded. "You know, this town is a very strange place. I thought Wolfram and Hart had no interests here—because of the Slayer."

"One just moved in," said the assassin, annoyed the priest had seen through him so quickly. "Making up a spell?"

"No, trying to see if there's any hope for using this one for my purposes," said the priest. "I suppose you mean Angelus, then."

"He goes by Angel, nowadays," replied the assassin, not denying the law firm's interest in the Champion.

"Yes, I'd heard," said the priest mildly, trying not to give anything away on his face.

"What happened to Ozymandius?"

"Spike, Angel, and Faith," replied the priest, smiling slightly. "I suppose, to a lesser extent, I contributed to it."

The assassin raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a story worth telling."

"Not really. I helped him free his witch so that I could channel some of the power he was tapping into—even though I knew it would go badly."

"And did you get what you wanted?" asked the assassin.

The priest smiled. "I always get what I want," he assured the other man.

And even though the assassin couldn't sense the magic leaking out of the hellmouth and pooling in the mercenary, he had the good sense not to say anything insulting.

* * *

Willow finished the spell and leaned against Tara.

"Uh...ew," said Anya, reacting to the snake that had come out of Willow's mouth. She looked around, shivering. "Did it work?"

Willow looked down, then looked around. "It, it must have," she said, frowning. "But, but—?"

"But no Buffy," whispered Tara.

Willow stared. "No. No!" She moved forward, falling to her knees. "We, we must have done something wrong!"

She was sure in her heart that the problem was how fast they had rushed, how little time she'd had to prepare this spell. She had used substitutes in the spell's making--shoddy work, but with Faith around, Spike chipless, and all the various things that Faith had brought with her, it had seemed so urgent.

* * *

Buffy's eyes flashed open in the dark, cramped tomb.

* * *

Gissard sat quietly in the armchair, reading a thick tome of spells. He glanced at Mary, who was tied to a chair and gagged facing him.

"If you promise not to try any incantations, we can remove the gag," he offered.

She scowled at him, and nodded.

He gestured, and the gag fell off her face.

"Oh, ha ha," she said, scowling at him. "You're a right riot, aren't you?"

He gave her a half smile.

There was a knocking at the door, and Quayle scurried to the door, opening it. "Faith!" he said loudly, trying to alert Gissard. "Er, come in." He stepped back and Faith entered.

Quayle quickly shut the door behind her. Gissard smiled, standing up and gesturing. The gag went back in Mary's mouth. "Mrrph!" she protested.

"Faith! Would you like some food?"

"It's two in the morning," pointed out Faith.

"Those are Slayer hours," replied Gissard. "And, unfortunately, ours as well."

"What do you have?"

He smiled, leading the way to the kitchen. "Angel was very sparse with the details, but I hear that Ozymandius is gone for good this time. We've got some details on that spell from Mary—we're going to send her to the Devon Coven. They're equipped to properly deal with her."

Faith watched him. "Did they deal with you?" she asked.

He went very still, the smile fading off his face. "No," he said finally. "They tried, but I was too much. They had to actually let me deal with my own problems, my own way." He turned to face her. "I suspect you've been doing some of that dealing."

Faith shrugged.

Gissard's eyes narrowed. "Is that Spike's coat?" Off her nod he dropped his chin into his palm, resting his elbow against his stomach to support it. "Well, how are things in Spike-ville?"

"Got his soul working, kicked Ozymandius' rumpus—things are looking good and pretty Faith-free over there," said Faith bitterly.

Gissard gave her a hard look. "I am not going to discuss your love life, or braid your hair."

She shrugged, spreading her hands. "You did ask," she said innocently.

"Yes, but you know..." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes. "I'm beginning to see why after working with you Windam-Pryce chose to take up with a demon."

Faith snickered. "And that was before I tortured him," she reminded the wizard.

He sighed. "Have you ever read the Slayer's handbook?"

"There's a handbook?"

He glared at her. "Rule one is to never disagree with or cross your Watcher in any way. Boy, when they said you'd broken every rule in the book, I didn't think they meant it literally."

"That's me, a butterfly, flitting from rule-book to rule-book," said Faith. "Never break the same rule twice, I always say. Actually, if there is a handbook, could I get a copy? I want to make sure I haven't missed any rules."

"Ah. I think I see why Wesley skipped the book, then."

* * *

Xander watched Spike carefully wrote in the journal. "Weird," he muttered. "First I get stuck babysitting Evil Undead Two, and then he's writing poetry."

"Demons don't grieve," said Spike.

"And the king of the non sequitor."

"Demons don't get over things. They obsess, they destroy, and eventually find a new obsession. They're incapable of truly moving on, though."

"What are you doing?" asked Xander, truly hoping not to get a coherent reply.

"I'm trying to catalo—I'm trying to think of everything the soul does. And write it down."

"You were going to say you were cataloguing your soul!" said Xander gleefully. He wasn't entirely sure why that was funny, but it sounded so careful, precise, and British, and so un-Spike, that it was worth dwelling on.

Spike glared at the boy sprawled across his couch. "Look, I'm trying to work here, okay?"

"Sure, sure."

"'Does...not...help...with...stupid...gits,'" said Spike thoughtfully, writing it down. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it."

* * *

Angel dragged Harmony towards the mansion. "Come on," he said impatiently.

"You're not the boss of me!" she said defiantly.

He stopped. "Look, Harmony," he said, trying to be reasonable despite the large amounts of anger and downright resentment he felt towards her. She'd tried to hurt his friends, after all. "I'm working with Spike, right? And you're his minion. So you'll come with me and tell me all about Wolfram and Hart."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you think I was born yesterday?" she asked him. "Duh. On what possible world would you and Spike ever work together? He hates you!"

Angel hesitated. "Well, yeah," he said. "But you're...I mean, you don't usually pick up on stuff like that. And we've overcome our differences or something."

"What, you think I'm some kind of ditz? Come on, there is no way you and Spike could overcome your differences," disagreed Harmony. "Every other day he was like," and here she burst into an imitation of Spike's accent that assaulted Angel's ears worse than even Spike's voice could. "Oh, that bloody ponce Angel, oh, what's wrong with him, oh, he stole my woman, oh, that bloody ponce poofing hairgel! If I had my Drool-silla I wouldn't be here, boo hoo, it's all his fault, boo hoo!"

Angel stared at her. "Really?" he asked, pleasantly surprised that Spike had been as bothered by him as he had been bothered by Spike. A small smile crept onto his face.

"Well, that was before the Buffy obsession," said Harmony. "After that it was like, oh that bloody poofing gelling ponce Angel, boo hoo, always gets all the good girls, boo hoo, let's play that game again where you're the Slayer."

Angel coughed, a faintly horrified look creeping onto his face. Harmony looked like she was about to add more, so he threw a hand up to forestall her. "Say no more. The last thing I need are intimate details about Spike's love life."

"Oh, sure, like you two never got to know those intimate details when you were both evil Scourges of Europe!" scoffed Harmony.

"Spike and I were never intimate! Well, except that one time..."

"Point is, I'm not going to betray Spike to you!" said Harmony, sticking out her lower lip in a credible imitation of the Buffy angry-pout. "I have loyalty, I have—gack!" Angel's hand closed around her throat.

"Really?" he asked, squeezing.

She shook her head, and he released her throat. "Nope, no loyalty," she croaked. "Lead the way, I'll spill it all."

Angel nodded, satisfied. Sometimes it was just nice to know that you had it—that almost indefinable quality that made bad guys spill their stories, made hard luck cases like Faith burst into tears and surrender, and made some girls weak in the knees.

Lorne called it his Dark Avenger mojo.

Gunn just called it his mojo. Of course, Gunn had a healthy dollop of it as well.

Wesley called it charisma. An understatement if ever there was one.

Cordelia was the most honest of all his friends. She called it his swelled head.

Harmony stopped him short, digging her heels in and wrapping her hands around his wrist. He turned back, and Harmony was staring at a figure walking down the street towards them. "Isn't she dead?" asked the vampire.

Angel turned to look.

For a moment he felt his breath catch, before remembering that he didn't need to breathe.

It was a long moment when a series of different words paraded through his head. Impossible. Inconceivable. Unthinkable.

Above them all, her name rose high.

He stared at her, and knew suddenly that his entire life could be encapsulated in one epitaph. He hoped he could remember it, because he decided that when—if—he died, he wanted a tombstone that said it.

He loved Buffy.


	20. Lurking

Disclaimer: If you spot a character you think I should own, stop and remember that I have no copyrights at all to my name, and therefore even those characters that originated with me are arguably not mine.

Summary: Oh, come on, folks! This is really complicated, and getting worse with every chapter! Buffy's back, Spike got a soul and deactivated the chip, but now Wolfram and Hart have the control, an assassin for W & H is in town, Faith has the hots for Spike and...well, that's it.

* * *

Spike was asleep on the bed, leaving Xander alone and painfully bored, not to mention extremely aware that there was no way he was going to be on time to work in the morning. Which was any hour now.

And how could he explain this? Sorry, but a vampire who just got his soul back was acting crazy, and we needed somebody to watch him to make sure he didn't kill himself or a bunch of people?

No, much better to lie. He'd tell them he went out on a bender.

Yes, that was the best way.

"What does this mean, anyway? The soul changes some paradigms of love, but not significantly; it might help with the grieving, but not with the moving on—oh, I get it," said Xander, nodding. "Back to that whole it hurts worse theme."

He continued reading, while Spike stirred. It was an invasion of Spike's privacy, true, but considering he'd had to listen to the vampire rant out the list in the first place, he felt entitled.

"No," said Spike firmly, propping himself up on one arm. "It's...it opens the strata of normal relationships." He glowered at Xander. "Just shut up, okay? It's just spilling out of me, it's not really me."

"Yeah, yeah, heard that song and dance," said Xander, rolling his eyes. "What good are you going to be like this? All you do is mope and cry. You were less useless before your soul."

Spike's eyes flashed amber. "What?" he asked coldly.

"Get over it!" yelled Xander, slamming a hand on the crypt. "Sure, everyone's sorry for you, but you aren't helping us, and we've stopped patrolling since Faith came back! More vampires, less Slaying, badness!"

"Useless," muttered Spike, sitting up with a laugh.

Xander shook his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this. This is all garbage!" He threw the journal away. "Who cares what you feel, how you feel it? Nobody! You want people to care, be like Angel! Go all dark avenger, save the world. People notice that! You saw how Buffy was drawn right to him. Disgusting, that's what it was."

Spike nodded. "Because the soul doesn't provide any easy outs or any real moral guidance, does it?" he said bitterly. "All it provides is an ability."

"What?" said Xander, surprised. He hadn't really expected Spike to listen to what he said.

Spike stood up. "The ability to turn around and do something right. Was it coincidence that I didn't kill Ozymandius till I had a soul? I couldn't kill him without a soul. He never threatened me, and I could use him for anything I wanted. With a soul, I didn't care what use he was to me." He glanced to Xander. "It's not a guide, and everything extra in my head is just what I need to do right. Or something even worse. Because you can't truly be evil without a soul; with a soul, the worst sorts of evil is at your fingertips."

Xander smiled. "Then you agree about the journal," he said with relief.

"Sod the journal!" snapped Spike. "You missed the point entirely!"

Xander glanced out the door. "And it's daylight. Time for me to go to work."

Spike scowled. "I'll just go back to bed, then," he said. "Try to figure something out. I suppose I'll go back to the Magic Box after the sun sets, help out." Continue what he had been doing before he got the chip out as if nothing had changed; pretend this little world hadn't shattered for a little bit longer.

Xander nodded. "Exactly."

* * *

Angel wrapped Buffy's hands quietly, not saying anything. He wasn't sure there were words that would fit here, that would do anything but fracture and destroy him.

Was he insane? Had he finally cracked under the pressure and was he now only seeing what he wanted most in the world to see.

He hoped not.

Harmony sat quietly, watching them. "Hi, Buffy." She said.

Buffy cast a dull glance at Harmony. She glanced back to Angel, a bit of betrayal on her face.

Angel felt moved to defend himself. "She's Spike's minion, not mine."

Buffy rolled her eyes. Angel coughed, and resumed bandaging.

Dawn stood in the doorway, just staring at them, unable to believe it. "Willow did this," she said finally. "It must have been Willow."

"It shouldn't..." Angel trailed off, staring into Buffy's eyes. "Buffy?" She looked at him emptily, and he gave her a small smile. "Buffy," he said, the word very soft on his tongue.

Dawn rolled her eyes, but moved forward with a smile, putting a hand on Angel's shoulder. "She's back," she said. "You're back, Buffy. You're really back."

Buffy forced a half-smile to her face.

* * *

Faith awoke violently, hearing a noise, and shot bolt upright, rolling out of the bed she was in.

For a moment she was disoriented, and she had to blink back the sleep out of her eyes.

Gissard was sitting in a chair nearby, reading. "Quayle has Mary out and about," he said. "Drugged her and turned her loose in the bathroom with soap and a backscrubber. We'll call you if that turns dangerous."

Faith blinked. "What?" she said groggily. It took her a moment to realize that she was in his room, not the other way around, and the bed she had rolled out of was his couch.

"Not a morning person?" he asked.

She collapsed back on the couch, grunting.

"Mary spilled a few beans last night after you went to bed." His voice was too calm. He was covering--or he was unnaturally calm, which would also bug her.

"Are you always so calm?"

"No, it's a special effort I take around you. To avoid exciting those homicidal juices."

"Do me a favor and just drop it, okay?" said Faith angrily, missing any irony in his voice. "I haven't killed since...since before I went to Angel. Since before I went to jail. I'm not going to go all medieval on your butt."

"You would have me believe that you've changed, then?"

She snorted. "A little. What about you?"

He smiled. "Not a bit," he said, appreciating that irony. "You don't really trust me, do you?"

She shrugged, watching him closely.

He echoed her shrug, going back to his book.

Now he was making her suspicious. She wasn't sure what he was holding back, what he wasn't quite saying, but she could tell there was something there. So she folded her arms, glaring at him. "Spill."

He sighed. "What Mary said? It was uninformative, and I suspect you already know most of it and just aren't telling me."

"Oh, a little testy, are we?" she asked, arching one brow at him.

"Do you know what you do?" he asked. "You bait me and then keep me in the dark, and I don't think you do it out of spite, just because you have no idea what else to do."

"New theory. Maybe I don't trust a guy the Council sent to whack me if I stray from the straight and narrow. Maybe I don't trust someone who called Angel _Angelus _because usually the people who do that don't accept him, and he's my friend. Maybe I don't trust you, and that's why I keep you in the dark."

Gissard frowned. "I see. All right, I'll share."

"Good," said Faith with a smirk. "I'd hate to have to beat it out of you."

The banter with this so-called Watcher was actually a comfort, of sorts. It was familiar, the give and take and the occasional stinging barb. It was a lot like being back with the Scoobies.

Without the emotional baggage.

"She was telling me about this assassin sent by a totally evil law firm to follow Spike and make sure he keeps his end of the deal," said Gissard.

Faith shrugged. "I don't see that one turning out well for the assassin."

Gissard's eyes glinted. "That's...good to hear."

Faith shrugged, sitting up, his tone electrifying her. "What are you thinking?" she asked, suspicious. He shrugged.

"A functional soul never stopped most evil humans, you know?"

"Like you?" shot Faith.

"Or you," Gissard fired back.

Faith stomped out, slamming the door behind her.

Quayle entered the room. "Was that necessary?" he asked.

Gissard made a face. "You tell me."

Quayle shook his head. "She relies too much on the vampires. If this continues, we'll have to call another Slayer."

Gissard sighed. "She shows such promise, too."

* * *

Faith opened the door to Spike's crypt and stepped inside. He wasn't on the top floor so she headed down to the sublevel. He was on the bed in the middle of the room, lying there with his eyes closed looking as innocent as any killer ever could. "Hey," she said when he stirred on the bed. She drew his duster tighter around herself, settling on his couch.

He frowned, shaking his head. "Never any rest for the wicked, eh?" he asked, getting up and sitting on the couch beside her, but as far from her as he could be and still be on the couch. "What's the matter, pet?"

She watched him for a moment. "I'm just looking for a place to crash."

He shrugged, picking up a remote and turning on the TV in the corner. The picture flickered a little, and Spike frowned, changing the channel.

"Never anything good on in the day anyway—ah!" He settled on a cheap mobster movie. "This looks encouraging. Soon they'll start shooting."

Faith looked at him, and scooted closer to him. "Angel has a theory about you."

"Oh?" said Spike, watching the show.

"He thinks you couldn't really be good without a soul, but you couldn't really be as evil as you wanted to be." Faith watched him carefully as his jaw clenched.

"Angel's a sodding poof," said Spike. "I tried...I tried so hard to be good." He glared at her. "Even before Buffy died, I was trying to be good. I tried. I tried to be as good as she wanted. Even now. I was trying to be good." He looked away from her, watching the TV. "Even when I went to Wolfram and Hart, I was trying to be good."

"You were?" asked Faith.

"I kept bloody failing!" snarled Spike. "And I never fail at anything. I get what I want. Always! But I kept failing, and I was trying so hard."

"And you think now you can succeed?" asked Faith. He was acting a lot less crazy, which reassured her. Perhaps the madness was just a temporary effect, a side-effect of the soul that he had gotten past.

Spike shrugged. "I think with all the waterfalls in the world, at least I should be able to have a piece of water for myself."

Faith blinked. "Are you deliberately trying to sound insane now?"

He glared at her. "Oh, don't get me started," he snapped.

She moved closer, sliding a hand over his leg. He glared at it as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

When she turned to kiss him, he trapped her in a tight embrace, his hard arms snapping shut around her. "Don't try to be what I'm not!" he snapped at her.

She was uncomfortable in his arms, uncomfortable being this close to him without the overt excuse of sex. But she didn't struggle, because being this close was so much better than not being close.

She watched the television, and after a few moments his grip loosened. She didn't resume her attempt, instead curling against him and resting.

She was still tired, but not as tired as the vampire, and he drifted off to sleep before her, his head sliding down to rest against hers.

She drifted off a few minutes later, the flickering light of the television casting a gray tint over them both.

* * *

Angel watched from the shadows as Buffy greeted her friends warily. They were overjoyed, but Angel could smell the dark magic still coating them.

They'd done this. Her friends.

He frowned, keeping his opinions to himself. Buffy was back, and somehow that made him not care about how dangerous this all could have been. Buffy was back, and somehow the world seemed right again.

Because maybe she wasn't his, but she owned his heart, and when she had died his heart had died too.

Now she was alive.

The situation with Spike, his crazy, violent, and much-hated Childe faded back. Faith's struggle for redemption faded back.

And now he'd be returning to LA. Now that Buffy was back there was no reason for him to stay.

No reason except Faith, his friend, and Spike, his insane (stupid idiot numbskull psychopath) Childe.

And Angel could already feel all the things that tore up his relationship with Buffy the first time coming back into play. All the emotions that made it so dangerous for him to be around her.

He had to get out.

He retreated into the basement, and listened to the muted sounds of happiness.

Sounds he could never be a part of.

He sat and brooded, finally falling asleep in a corner.

When he woke up Buffy was watching him. "Hi," she said quietly.

He scrambled to his feet. "Buffy," he said, clearing his mind as quickly as he could.

He needed to be calm, for this.

"Let's patrol," she said. He didn't know if she was seeking normality or escape from her family, and he didn't care.

As they walked through the cemeteries, he wondered what he should tell her about Faith. "Faith's back," he said.

She stiffened, glancing at him. "In the good way, or the bad way?" she asked.

He stared into her eyes, which were squinting even against the dim light of the moon. "In the good way," he offered. "Spike..." She flinched at the name, and he nodded to himself. "He got a soul," he said.

Buffy absorbed that. "He got a soul," she said flatly.

"It was sort of an accident. Mostly," said Angel. "Still, don't trust him."

Buffy gave him a sharp look. "I already did," she said, smiling. It wasn't entirely a pleasant smile.

Something was off about the scenario, and Angel was beginning to figure it out. She didn't seem entirely happy to be back—almost as if—

They came upon Spike's crypt, and Buffy stared at it. She glanced to Angel, then back to the door. "I don't..." she said, then shook her head.

"Might as well get it over with," suggested Angel.

She opened the door, shrugging. "Might as well."

She led the way to the lower level confidently, without even faltering, and he wondered just how she knew how to get to the lower level.

The television was on, and some old western was showing. Spike was lying on the couch, with a dark-haired woman wearing his duster draped over him.

Angel frowned, sniffing the air. "Faith."

Faith jerked upright instantly, her eyes wide. Spike stirred under her, murmuring.

"B?" said Faith, her voice raw.

Buffy stared at Faith, blinking slowly at the sight. Faith stared back, then glanced down at Spike, and flushed, moving back. "Spike, wake up."

He blinked, looking at her. "Time to go out and kill things?" he asked, then froze.

He sniffed the air, glancing over his shoulder. When he saw Buffy he sagged, just sagged down, as if he'd been a large balloon that had just had the air let out. "Buffy?" he asked, his voice small and tiny.

He started to stand up, but Faith's hand on his shoulder stopped him. "It's really B, right, Angel?" she asked.

"It's really her," said Spike, swatting her hand away. He rose, staring at her. "How?" he asked, after a long moment of uncomfortable staring.

"Willow raised her," said Angel simply.

Faith stared.

Spike snorted angrily, turning away. "That's..." He turned back, and there were tears streaming down his face. "I've gotta go kill something."

He ran out past Buffy and Angel, taking off into the night.

Faith hesitated, then ran after him.

Buffy stood silently. "Well, I guess things have changed," she said softly.

Angel moved closer, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Some things," he said, half-smiling.

He felt on top of the world.

* * *

Spike jumped onto a headstone, balancing in a crouch atop it. He looked straight down at his shoes, then threw his head back with a deep howl of joy, from the pit of his stomach.

Faith stood behind him, arms crossed, watching him.

Spike started to shake with laughter. "She's alive," he said finally, looking over his shoulder at Faith. "She's alive. Can you believe it? I can't." He shook his head. "I put myself through all that pain, and she's alive. I'm an idiot." He laughed happily.

Faith felt a sharp pang in her gut. What had she said to Angel? Amazing how Buffy can inspire that kind of loyalty, even in a guy with no soul? Something like that.

"Yeah, and first thing she does is run to Angel," said Faith, throwing in a dig.

That was the way, wasn't it? Start to feel pain, and lash out. If you lashed out, then you wouldn't feel pain.

A look of pain flashed across Spike's face. "Yeah, that's inevitable," he said dismissively. "Poofter always gets the girl. What do I get?" He tapped his head. "Screwed. That's what I get." He considered Faith, his eyes on her like a predator.

She shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware of his gaze stripping away façades and getting right down to the real her. His laser vision scared her, because the one thing she was never willing to share was the real her, the scared girl hiding inside of her.

"What're you going to do now, now that they don't need you," she shot, trying to distract him.

"Same as I was doing before they needed me," said Spike, turning to face her. "Lurk."

"Lurk?" She laughed at that, some of the fear leaving. "I can see that. I bet you love to lurk. It's just so you."

"What'll you do, now that your job is taken?" asked Spike. "You're just as useless as me, you know." He jumped down, landing lightly in front of her, a scowl on his face. "You ready to lurk in the darkness with me, babe?"

She felt some of her resolve melting. "I don't know," she said, all too aware that he was seeing in, past her defenses, past all the gates and barriers around her.

She didn't like that.

She liked it even less than being held in his arms during the day. That had been intimate, but it had still only been bodies and skin. This was deeper, and this was something she couldn't handle.

"Don't hit me because you don't like what you see in the mirror," seethed Spike. "There'll be no little games of kick the Spike here. You hit me, I hit you. That's how it works. You don't want the pain, agony, and suffering?" He leaned closer, getting in her face. "Shut. Up."

She snarled, getting in his face, back in familiar territory. "Let me ask you something, mister 'I was trying to be good when I bit you,' what are you going to do about Angel? He's got the cards, the power, and the girl. You gonna kill him?"

Spike sneered. "Maybe."

Faith punched him in the face, sending him staggering back. "Fine, then let's go!" she yelled, arms held stiffly at her sides.

Spike rubbed his face. "Ah!" he yelled, staring at her. "Fine, I won't kill Angel! You happy?"

"Maybe," she said. And maybe she had really wanted to fight Spike, let loose against him. Sometimes she felt like she was closer to him, safer with him, when throwing punches at him.

He shook his head. "Psycho," he muttered, sniffing the air. Faith waited for more, but there was suddenly a distracted look on his face. "Someone's out and about," said Spike.

A man in a grey suit with dark hair that fell past his shoulders stepped out from behind a large statue of an angel. "Ah, yes, that hunter's instinct I was told you had."

Spike frowned. "Do I know you?" he asked.

"We met briefly when you visited my office," said the man. "I'm Vincent. Vincent Forlin"

"Vincent." Spike scowled at the man, clearly perturbed. "What do you want?"

"I want you to kill Faith and Angel, as you agreed," he replied.

"And if I don't want to?" asked Spike, angrily, taking a step towards Vincent.

"You renege on your end of the bargain, and we'll renege on our end," said Vincent with a smile. "No fighting, no anger."

Spike considered it, glancing at Faith, then back to him. "That's it?" he asked with a snort. "You'll put my chip back in?" His tone of voice said that he found it extremely unlikely they would get him down on an operating table anytime soon.

"Not quite," said Vincent. "It was never out, to begin with. Simply deactivated."

Spike stared. "What?"

"We can reactivate it," said Vincent simply. He pulled a small remote control out of his pocket. "Now, I'll prove it." He pressed a button.

Spike screamed in pain, collapsing bonelessly to the ground, clutching his skull. "No! No! No!" he screamed, beating his head against the ground.

Faith curled her hands into fists, and started for Vincent, her eyes flashing in anger.

Vincent smiled. "Faith. So protective of a dead carcass. New rules, Spike. Hit Faith, or the pain comes back." He began pressing buttons. Spike stopped screaming, gasping in a way that had nothing to do with a need for air and everything to do with shock.

Faith hesitated, then Spike hit her, knocking her to the ground. He clutched his skull.

"Liar!" he snarled. "It still hurts!"

"You stopped hitting her," pointed out Vincent.

Faith, lying on the ground, stared at Spike in horror as she realized what he'd done, the terrible mistake of dealing with Wolfram and Hart.


	21. Violence

Disclaimer: I own nothing at all.

Summary: For crying out loud, if you can't remember, just go back and read the last 200 pages! Spike has a soul, and Wolfram and Hart is controlling his chip. Vincent (the lawyer) set it so it would only stop while he was hitting Faith.

* * *

Chapter 21: Violence

The chip was an astonishing device.

Drinking the blood of humans was what kept Spike alive. It was literally his lifeblood. The chip had been able to keep him from feeding. It had been able to drive him back from even hitting humans. It had taken from him the single most important thing. It would be like asking a human to stop breathing.

That was the most radical change you could ever expect from a vampire. More radical than anything else possible.

It didn't surprise Faith in the slightest when Spike hit her again.

And again.

He'd already proven that he would do anything to stop the pain in his head. Even stop feeding. Stop hitting humans. Something that was crucial to his life. Something he couldn't even envision doing without.

Whatever connection he had to Faith, whatever his soul did for him—it wasn't enough to stop this.

Faith cringed, kicking at him, trying to get him away from her.

He pushed her legs off target with the palm of his left hand, slamming another fist into her. She was already down, but this blow rocked her, leaving her seeing stars.

She could see his eyes, and could see nothing in them but pain and anguish. Then he vamped out, and she could see nothing through the dangerous façade that arose.

She managed to scissor-kick his legs out from under him, rolling out of his reach. He screamed, a heart-rending scream, clutching his hands to his head.

It was the scream that brought Angel and Buffy.

Faith struggled to her feet as the other Slayer and the Champion came barreling towards them, heading straight towards Vincent. They both picked him as the threat instinctively, too used to a Spike that was on their side, a Spike who wouldn't or couldn't hit them.

Vincent smiled. "New targets," he noted, playing with the remote control.

Spike gained his feet, intercepting them before they reached Vincent. He clotheslined Angel, an outstretched arm knocking the taller vampire to the ground. He spun around, kicking Buffy back. Before she could recover, he was hitting her.

Buffy reeled back out of his reach, then shot in, punching him away. As he staggered back she pressed forward, slamming her fists into him again and again. Each impact sent him back several feet, and he collapsed after a minute. She spared a final kick for him, then charged Vincent.

Vincent ducked out of the way, scrambling away from the Slayer.

"You didn't say the chip was out!" snarled Buffy at Angel, chasing after Vincent.

Angel staggered to his feet, and Spike rushed him, pounding at him with his left hand while grabbing his neck with his right hand.

Holding Angel captive he rushed Buffy, throwing Angel at her. As they fell he leapt into the air, coming down on Vincent and reaching for the remote.

As they crashed to the ground the remote spun off into the air, and Vincent let out a shriek. Spike roared, clutching his head, and bit Vincent quickly. The lawyer tried to push him off, but Spike's grip was desperate.

Buffy charged forward, a stake in her hand, heading for Spike's back. She raised her arm, ready to deliver the blow.

Faith rammed into her from the side, sending her crashing into a gravestone.

Angel was also up and heading for Spike. Faith spun around, her heel coming up and crashing into his chest, sending him flying backwards with the force of the kick. As he smashed into another grave marker it exploded, stone chips flying as his dead body crushed the stone monument.

Then Faith turned to Spike, tearing him off Vincent. "Come on!" she said, kicking Vincent away, sending his body rolling.

Spike turned, smashing a fist into her face. She rocked back with the blow. "Not so hard!" she snapped.

His next hit was gentler, but it was like comparing being hit by an AK-47 to being hit by an artillery round—it might be gentler, but it was just as deadly.

She pushed him in the direction the remote had gone. He clutched her shoulders, howling with the pain as he tried not to hit her again.

She spotted the remote and dove for it, driving him into the ground. He screamed, clutching his head, while she fumbled with it, punching buttons.

Vincent tried to tackle Faith from behind, sensing that he was losing control of the situation. Angel ran towards them, grabbing the lawyer.

Angel wasn't entirely sure what Faith and Spike were doing, but he trusted the dark Slayer, at least enough to let her let Spike tear her apart. He punched the lawyer, sending him reeling.

Angel was still staggering from Faith's blow, but he managed to limp into a position between Vincent and the two fallen warriors. Faith, in the meantime, was still trying to get the remote to work. She pressed a button, and Spike went limp, groaning.

"Is that better?" asked Faith.

Spike winced, nodding. "It stopped," he muttered.

Vincent chuckled, backing away. "That's cute," he said. "The Slayer and her pet vampire."

Faith was straddling Spike, pinning him to the ground. For a second she didn't move, savoring the moment, running a hand over his face, caressing his cheek. Then she got up slowly, eyeing Vincent. "You're about two seconds from the beating of your life."

"You think turning his chip against him is the worst we can do?" asked Vincent nastily. "He made a deal. If he's reneging now, the consequences, as laid out in his contract, are down-right apocalyptic."

Spike snarled, getting to his feet slowly. "Apocalypse? Learn the plural."

The lunge he made for the other man was nothing short of leonine. He made a graceful arc through the night, slamming into the other man, both arms wrapping around him. Vincent, weak from the loss of blood already, fell to the ground, Spike atop him.

Angel and Buffy both grabbed Spike, each by one arm, and hauled him off.

Vincent twisted on the ground, moaning. Faith, moving closer, put a hand on Spike's shoulder. "What's he muttered about?" she asked.

She was still shaking from Spike's attack.

She'd understood, at least in her head, that Spike's attack had been inevitable, that he couldn't have stopped even if he had wanted to. She knew the power of the chip. She understood.

But deep in her gut, it felt like a betrayal. Like the thousand betrayals that had preceded it. Like the thousand betrayals she had avoided by pushing people away.

"It's Latin," said Angel.

"It's a spell," said Spike, with more urgency. He shook Buffy and Angel off, moving closer. "What are you trying to do?" he asked desperately, running towards Vincent as quick as his rubbery legs could carry him.

Vincent's mouth curved into a sneer. "You didn't think I would come here armed only with a remote, did you?"

Spike screamed, curling his arms about his chest in an unconscious hug. He staggered back, gasping for breaths that he didn't need. "What—what—?" he stammered, unable to make himself clear.

Faith could see a blue light shining through the thin material of his black tee-shirt. She grabbed the front of it, tearing it off him.

Blue lines criss-crossed his chest, with one blue handprint in the middle of his chest. The handprint glowed a deep blue, and as Faith tried to put her hand on it she could feel bone-chilling waves of coldness coming off it.

Vincent rose to his feet. Buffy moved threateningly towards him, and he smiled. "Would you hit a human, Slayer?" he asked.

She punched him, knocking him down to the ground. "Idiot," she muttered darkly, watching with a detached expression as he struggled to his feet, his face panicked, and ran off.

Faith noticed for the first time that Buffy's actions were decidedly odd. She chalked it up to Buffy's recent return from death, not thinking about it very long. She concentrated on Spike, who was lying on the ground now, writhing in pain.

She grabbed the sides of his head, pinning him down, and knelt beside him, holding him still and forcing him to look at her. His eyes were filled with crazed panic, and he was shaking.

Buffy watched dispassionately at Spike struggled. Angel stood there, uncertain what to do.

Faith wept.

* * *

Gissard glanced up from the sink as he heard the door crash open. "Who's there?" he asked.

Faith strode into the kitchen, grabbing him by the neck. He was surprised, and a spell formed behind his lips as he tried to struggle.

She dragged him back into the living room, pointing at Spike. "Fix it," she said flatly.

Gissard paused, taking in the tableau before him. Angel stood there over his Childe, who was shirtless and moaning, slashes of blue light across his chest. Spike lay across the couch, where he had obviously been carried.

Another woman, one Gissard didn't recognize, stood in the doorway.

"I didn't invite any vampires in," said Gissard, concerned.

"You invited me," said Faith. "I invited them. Help him!" She shoved him towards the vampire on the couch, her unnatural strength propelling him towards the demon.

The blond by the door shifted uncomfortably, eying them both.

Gissard swallowed. "It should be a person who lives..." He trailed off, remembering that Faith had spent the night in the apartment. Apparently that was all the vampire needed to establish residency—or was it that Faith felt at home here?

Gissard threw the thoughts about how that worked aside. He focused on the runes emblazoned on the chest of the scrawny vampire panting for breath he didn't need.

After a second he realized what the runic markings were. "What kind of spell did he have cast on him?" Gissard asked Faith, worried suddenly.

"I don't know, the lawyer was on the ground, and he was chanting."

"His soul," said Angel suddenly. "That's how they returned his soul to him, isn't it?"

Gissard nodded grimly. "Yes. That would explain it." He and Angel shared a long glance, something that disgusted Gissard. What was he doing, having a meaningful moment with a vampire?

"What's going on?!" demanded Faith, staring at Gissard, then switching her glare to Angel.

"What happened before Buffy and I arrived?" asked Angel.

"Buffy?" said Gissard sharply. He wished suddenly that Quayle was awake. He had met Buffy Summers—or at least seen her from a distance.

Buffy watched Gissard dispassionately.

"He, he put the chip back in, said they were reneging the deal," said Faith.

"The soul was part of the deal," said Gissard. He put a hand on the cold light coming off the vampire's chest, and Spike moaned loudly. "They're stripping it away."

* * *

Faith sat on the floor, watching Spike twist and rock. Angel and Gissard were reading some thick texts, muttering obscure phrases.

Buffy was behind Spike, watching him. Her stare was flat. "So he loses his soul?" she asked. "So what? He never had a soul before."

"But..." Faith frowned, staring at the other Slayer. "He has a soul," she said, her voice small.

Buffy's face twisted in another frown that twisted deep into Faith's gut. Almost like a mirror, she thought dully.

Could the blonde Slayer be serious? Hadn't Spike helped her, before?

But then Faith remembered that Spike had wept openly, saying how badly he had failed her. Saying how her blood was on him. It occurred to her suddenly that Buffy might just agree with Spike.

Worse, she could suddenly see in the way Buffy was standing that she hated the vampire. Faith couldn't understand how she had missed it before. Buffy stood watching the vampire, ready to fight him, to stake him. He hadn't been her friend, ever. Buffy had never trusted him the way Faith did.

Faith got up quickly, moving closer to them, hovering over Spike. She trailed a hand through his hair, staring at Buffy, whose lip curled up into a sneer.

Angel was watching, and Faith noted with a quick glance that he looked troubled by the exchange.

Faith ignored this. "He's different!" she snapped, keeping her hands in front of her, ready for a fight, if that was what was coming.

Gissard put the book in front of him down, staring.

"He's Spike," said Buffy. "He killed two Slayers, you know. He told me once that he earned the name William the Bloody before he was turned." Angel choked. "If you think his soul tames him, you're horribly mistaken."

Angel started to rise. "You've been dead!" snarled Faith. "Not here." She leaned forward. "Butt out of it, B!"

"Oh, your pet vampire?" asked Buffy angrily. Angel rose to his feet and moved closer silently.

Gissard rose to his feet, leaving the couch and coffee table behind. "Ladies," he said slowly. They both spared him a glare. "Why don't we concentrate on the matter at hand."

"Spike _is_ the matter at hand," said Buffy, crossing her arms.

"With a soul, he's been much less of a nuisance," said Angel. "And they have control of his chip. If they take his soul, I don't think we'll be very safe. Much safer to prevent this, this—?" He looked at Spike, puzzled. "Whatever they're doing."

Buffy stared at Angel. "Can we talk?" she asked him.

"Uh, sure."

"Not here," she said. "Somewhere private."

He nodded, glancing to Faith with a shrug.

As he led her out the front door Faith looked to Gissard, frowning. "You're not researching."

"Uh, no," he said, with a little half-smile. "But I think we stopped the, um, other Slayer from, um, staking him where he lay."

"I'm calling Giles," said Faith, moving to the phone.

Gissard frowned, but let her go.

* * *

Buffy didn't speak, pacing back and forth in front of Spike's now-empty crypt. Angel sat and watched her, trying to understand what was happening. She seemed to be reeling from something—what, he couldn't tell.

"I, I wasn't," said Buffy finally, stopping in front of him. Angel raised a single eyebrow laconically. "I wasn't in hell. I don't know anything about God, or angels, or heaven...but where I was it was peaceful. It was...I was happy there."

Angel just stood there, his face not changing.

Inside, though, he felt his heart break. Again.

They'd torn her out of heaven. They hadn't saved her—they hadn't brought her where she wanted to be. They had imprisoned her, they had destroyed her.

He moved then, sweeping her into a tight hug. He held her close, and she started to cry, clutching the front of his shirt and pressing her face into his shirt. Each sob she let out was quieter than the last one, until she fell silent, clutching to him like a drowning man to a lifeline.

"I can't..." She gave a choked sob.

He hushed her, stroking a hand over her hair. "It'll be all right, Buffy. It'll be all right," he assured her.

She shook her head. "It won't! It won't. I want...I need..." She sobbed again. "I need to feel again," she said. "I feel dead. I feel like I was alive and now I've died. I need to feel...alive." Her hands slid up to his shoulders, pulling him even closer, and he was suddenly aware of just how close she was.

Realizing what she was asking, Angel shook his head. "No, Buffy," he said. What she wanted was too dangerous.

"Please?" she asked, her voice breaking on the word.

And he was lost. He never could have said no to that, no matter the consequence.

* * *

Faith watched Gissard and Giles reading, and she shrugged, glancing to Quayle, who had arrived recently. "What do you think?" she asked him.

He watched her warily. "Your sacred calling is killing vampires," he said after a moment's thought. "You might want to consider just staking him."

"Just staking him?" asked Faith, surprised.

"If he's in agony, it might be the final kindness you can give him," suggested Quayle.

Faith glared at him from under the thick eye-shadow that she used as a shield. "Kindness?" she asked. Quayle nodded.

"You obviously don't know Faith as well as you think," said Gissard suddenly, without looking up from his book. "Euthanasia is a selfless act—letting the other person go." He looked up, meeting Faith's startled gaze. "I doubt the Slayer could let anyone or anything go."

Faith wasn't entirely sure what he meant, but she was pretty sure it was an insult. Her hands curled into fists. Giles looked up in alarm.

Quayle frowned. "What?" he asked, surprised.

Gissard watched Faith closely. "I think you heard me," he said coolly.

Faith returned the gaze, and suddenly realized that Gissard's kind words all disappeared in front of Quayle. With the other Watcher in the room he was downright nasty, but whenever he left the wizard softened.

She knew this game well. The game of keeping up appearances. The game of distance.

But she had no idea why he was playing it now.

"Is that your way of covering up when you can't do something?" shot Faith, sneering at him. Gissard half-relaxed, and she wondered briefly just what kind of games he was playing, just why he was doing what he did.

Quayle watched the interaction closely, but said nothing.

"I have something," admitted Gissard. "It might work, but it's going to do a number on him."

"Do it," said Faith.

"Why?" asked Quayle. Faith turned, surprised. "He's no hero. He's hardly a force for goodness."

"He saved the world!" growled Faith. "The Hellmouth was opening, and he closed it." Quayle blinked quickly, surprised. "He's more a hero than you've ever been."

"Hero or not, we need to act quickly," said Giles quietly. "I'll get everything we need to cast the spell." He got up to leave.

"I should have all the supplies we'll need in my room," said Gissard.

Giles turned around, surprised. "You keep—of course you do." The surprise melted away, and Giles considered Faith quietly.

"Faith," said Quayle. She turned back, watching him. "You forget, you are the Slayer. You're not the one who gives the orders here."

Giles and Gissard both turned, watching the Watcher and Slayer face off. Giles' concerned look deepened.

"You think? What are you without me?" seethed Faith.

Quayle blinked. "Then you're prepared to defy us, as Buffy Summers did?" he asked. "Kick us away?"

"Yes," snarled Faith.

Quayle nodded. "I was afraid of that."

Gissard moved forward, quick as a flash, striking Faith in the arm. She whirled, punching him, sending him flying back into the wall, grabbing her arm.

A hypodermic needle was stuck in her arm, the plunger depressed. Faith yanked it out and threw it away. "What is this?!" she demanded.

"A special blend of sedatives and muscle relaxants," said Quayle, drawing a gun out of his coat. "Designed to make you no more than a normal human for about a week."

Faith stared at him, clutching her arm and staring at the gun as his words sank in. "Wha—?"

"This is the end," said Quayle. "I could tolerate your oddities and quirks as long as you kept your place. But you've gone too far."

"Gissard..." seethed Faith.

"Don't blame the wizard," said Quayle. "I keep him on a tighter leash than you. I somewhat suspect that he was trying to warn you how close you were skating to this in the last few moments. Regardless." He leveled the gun at her. "I shan't miss you, Faith."

Faith tensed herself, preparing for a last-ditch escape attempt.

Instead a cold hand closed around her neck, flinging her to the floor. She heard a loud explosion—a shot, she realized, the noise amplified by their close quarters.

But Spike was up, in front of her. He had taken the shot. He continued forward, and another shot, deafening, exploded. Faith winced, grabbing her ears.

Then Spike had the gun, and tore it out of the Watcher's hand. Faith couldn't see his face, but he punched the Watcher, then cried out in pain, clutching his head and reeling back.

"The chip?" offered Giles, moving closer and taking the gun from Spike, leveling it at Quayle.

"Apparently, Rupes," growled Spike, rubbing his chest.

Giles nodded. "The runes—they've stopped glowing."

Spike nodded wearily. "They did their work—gutted me entirely," he said, his voice amused.

Giles nodded. "I expected as much. The soul?"

Spike rubbed his chest. "Well, the itching has stopped. I expect it's gone now."

Giles nodded. "Get Faith out of here," he ordered. "I'll keep them here as long as possible."

Spike turned, and Faith felt her stomach lurch at the hard, predatory look in his eyes. "Right," said Spike.

He grabbed her again, lifting her easily, and pushed her out the door. She let him, feeling a queasiness in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't realized that he had changed at all with the soul—it was certainly a surprise to see a difference now that he'd lost it.

"I feel dirty," he muttered as they walked forward. He smirked. "And hopeful ,for the first time in a long time."

"Why's that?" asked Faith.

"The Slayer is back," said Spike. "Buffy." He grinned. "That makes all the difference to me." He glanced at her. "Well, come on, hop it. I wanna get back to my crypt in time for Passions."

"Passions?" Asked Faith, not understanding. "What?"

He sighed. "It's a TV show."

"Oh!" she said, recognizing it now. "The soap opera!" She chuckled. "You don't seem the type."

A shot rang out behind them, and Spike frowned. "Run," he advised, pushing her forward. "Do they know where my crypt is?"

"I don't think so," she said.

"Even if they do, we can get into the tunnels from my crypt. Come on, hurry it up."

So he was soulless, again. It didn't bother her that much, did it? After all, he'd been without a soul before. He'd been without a soul when she'd slept with him—without a soul through all the things they'd gone through.

Well, most of them.

They reached the crypt, and Spike threw the door open, glancing to the east. "The sun'll be up in a few minutes," he observed.

Faith stepped inside, and gasped. "Angel!" she said.

Spike stepped in after her, his human façade disappearing in a flash as his vampiric visage emerged. "Angelus!" he snarled.

Angel, on the bed, lifted his head from Buffy's neck, blood dribbling down his chin. His eyes flashed, and then his human mask slipped back on. "Faith! Willy!" He grinned widely at them. "Hang on a minute, boys, the party's just starting!"

Faith took in Buffy's state of undress, as well as Angel's, and suddenly realized that Spike was right. This wasn't the souled vampire that she had befriended. It was the demon, the vampire who had tried to end the world once before.

Spike let out a cry of indignation, leaping forward and smashing a fist into Angelus. As the older vampire flew back the younger vampire followed him, raining blow after blow on him. "Get away from her!" screamed Spike. "Stay away from her!"

Angelus batted him away. "Show a little respect for your elders, boy," he said, slamming a bare foot into Spike's chest, driving him to the floor. "Last time I saw you ... you were beating me while the Slayer fought with Drusilla. Still the Slayer's pet, I see."

Spike scissored his legs, taking Angelus down, and struggled to his feet. Angelus was on his feet first, with speed that even a vampire shouldn't have had.

Speed aided by the blood he'd taken from Buffy.

Spike snarled, punching at Angelus. Angelus caught the punch in both hands, head-butting Spike, sending him sprawling.

Faith charged forward, punching Angelus in the jaw.

The punch skittered off his jaw, and she felt as if she'd just punched a mountain. She clutched her hand, surprised, and Angelus's eyebrow came up nastily. "Not quite so strong as we thought, eh?" he asked, although he was clearly also surprised at the ineffectiveness of the blow.

He punched her, a hard blow that flung her across the room, slamming her into the wall. She felt her breath driven out of her by the sharp impact, and could feel the entire left side of her head explode in pain. Her fingers all tingled as she slumped down to the floor.

Then Spike was punching Angelus again, driving him back. "A big bad monster you are," taunted Spike. "Spend all your spare time helping little old ladies cross the road, do you?"

Angelus growled, backing up. Spike took the opportunity to kick him in his unguarded crotch. Angelus staggered back, shifting into game face angrily, letting out a howl of pain. "I'll see you in hell, boy!" he snarled, before turning and fleeing.

Spike jumped on the bed, grabbing Buffy. "Slayer! Slayer!" he said desperately. "She's weak...so weak...she's dying!" He said desperately. He looked to Faith for help as she struggled to her feet. "She's dying!" he said desperately, his face sliding back into its human form. "Help me!" he pleaded.

"We've gotta get her to a hospital," said Faith woodenly. She touched her lips, surprised to find blood dribbling down from them.

"No time," said Spike. "No time." He thought for a second, then shifted back to game face for a moment, biting into his own wrist.

"What are you doing?" asked Faith, rubbing her head. It was too foggy—if she could only think...

"It's the only way," said Spike, leaning forward to press his wrist to Buffy's lips.

Understanding hit Faith like a physical blow, and she shot forward, pushing him. On the bed she was able to overbalance him, even without her super- strength. "No!" she said, angrily. "She—it wouldn't be her, and you know it!"

"It'd be close enough!" screamed Spike. "I can save her!"

"Get her to the hospital!" Faith yelled right back at him. "That's the only help she wants from you!"

Spike shifted upward, deadly intent on his face, but the chip started to fire even as he reached for her. "Agh!" He grabbed his head. "Go, then! Go!" he said, rubbing his temples.

"I can't," said Faith. "I'm not strong enough. I need your help."

Spike stared at her, growling under his breath. "Fine." He scooped up Buffy. "But she starts to falter, and I'm doing it."

"You try it, and I swear I'll stake you, Spike," said Faith.

They set out for the hospital.


	22. Oblivion and Decisions

Disclaimer: Even those characters that I invented are not really my property (lack of copyright, you know). Those from the shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel the Series are the properties of all those who do hold copyrights to them. I'd say something witty, but I don't want to be sued.

Summary: Listen, according to my text editor I'm over two hundred pages worth now. That's just about novel-length. Do yourselves a favor and read it, okay? If I squashed it into a paragraph, you'd never really UNDERSTAND. That said, Angel lost his soul the same night Spike lost his (if that makes no sense to you, stop trying to jump into a story already in progress!). Angel fed on Buffy, who's hanging on to life tenuously.

Chapter 22: Oblivion and Decisions

* * *

Faith paced the hospital floor, occasionally glancing back at the little window through which she could see Buffy. Spike stood staring at Buffy, watching her lie there surrounded by tubes and machines. She looked pale, almost dead.

Faith wondered if that turned Spike on.

"We have to stop Angelus," she said.

"Why?" asked Spike, turning to address her.

His question floored her for a second. "It's what I do," she finally said.

"Not my bag," he replied.

"What happened to the Spike who was hunting when I got to town?" demanded Faith.

"I was only out for a bit of violence," he replied. "I'm not a hero." He glanced around. "I wonder where they put the bodies that've just died. Bet I could get a snack from them."

"Then, for the violence!"

He shook his head. "I can get violence anywhere," he said.

"Revenge," said Faith flatly.

He grinned. "Yeah, I think I will go for some of that."

"He tried to take Buffy away from you. Forever," hissed Faith. This whole redemption thing—she didn't even know why she was bothering now. Her Watchers had turned on her. Again. She had no powers. No strength.

Although she was getting some full-power tinglies in the back of her neck from Spike's presence. But she couldn't really trust that this wasn't just a reaction to his presence.

Spike smirked. "I've got a plan," he announced. "A good plan. Now, if I can just keep from getting bored, we'll have him."

Xander and Willow ran in, panting for breath. "Where's Buffy?!" asked Xander frantically.

Faith pointed. Spike just smirked. "Ah, little Xander wasn't there to save his woman? Too bad."

Xander stared, frowning, then darted past to see Buffy. Spike shook his head in disgust as Willow passed.

"Willow," said Faith. Willow turned, surprised. "It was Angelus. I heard from...I heard you were the one who gave him back his soul last time this happened."

Willow paled. "I had...all the ingredients are smashed. I don't know...I can look." She darted into Buffy's room.

"Fat lot of good the Scoobies'll do you," snorted Spike. "Stick with me, not-so-Wonder Woman."

"Why'd you save me from Quayle?" she asked him, snapping it out. He winced, taking a half-step back. "You can pretend that you're glad the soul is gone—but you enjoyed it, didn't you? Enjoyed your 'new strata of information?'"

"Shut up!" he growled. "You're just trying to justify your attraction to a monster!"

"I don't need to!" she replied. "I'd sleep with a zombie if it was good in the sack! What are you trying to hard to justify, Spike?"

He let out an oath and turned, marching away. As he reached the door he turned back, sweeping his eyes over the duster she was wearing. "You can try all you want, but you'll only ever be second best to the woman in there, as far as I'm concerned!"

* * *

Angelus really, really, really didn't want to stay in Sunnydale.

From experience he knew that hanging around the Slayer, no matter how well you kept the situation under control, was a sure way to get killed. He'd underestimated her once before. Then she'd been alone, and Spike had turned on him.

Now Spike was on her side, and Faith as well. Right from the get-go, more allies than he could handle himself.

Angel stood over the body of his latest meal, and tried to think of something to do. A course of action that would be foolproof.

The first thing would be some good minions. That would do him some good. A base of operations—maybe in LA. Probably that law firm would be interested in getting him in their good graces.

Well, screw them. He was a lone wolf.

Not a lackey.

Just thinking of the way Angel had run about at the PTB's whim made his skin crawl. That soul...

New plan. First, kill the witch who has the power to curse him again. THEN back to LA.

He was willing to be he hadn't been uninvited from the Summers house, where the witches lived. It was time for him to go ahead and pull his little plan off.

* * *

Tara finished the spell and smiled at Dawn, a stretched, thin smile. Dawn hated that smile. It was the one Tara tried to use to comfort her. It was a fake smile.

Of course, it was the best Tara had, and Dawn couldn't fault her intentions.

It just stung. A lot.

"T-that'll keep Angel—Angelus—out of here," said Tara.

Dawn nodded, moving to the window. "It's funny, you know. I know I wasn't really here last time he went Angelus. But I remember the fear—all the fear. And I must have been so young—younger than I've ever been. I remember the fear. I remember Buffy leaving afterwards."

Tara nodded, moving up behind Dawn. "Buffy will be fine."

"Will she?" asked Dawn doubtfully. Even if the physical assault didn't kill her, Dawn had seen something in her sister in their short interactions. Something that didn't belong there.

There was a knock at the door. Tara opened it quickly, hoping Willow and Xander had returned.

Angelus stood there smiling. "Dawn, Tara!" he said, moving forward.

When he collided with the invisible barrier his smile turned to a snarl of rage. "They told you! Aah!" He swung a useless punch at the barrier. "Where's Willow?" he demanded.

_"Inciento,_" said Tara quickly, holding up a palm. A small flame started flickering on her palm. "I suggest you l-l-leave," she said, her voice trembling.

Angelus eyed the flames before retreating into the night.

Tara sank to the floor, the fire winking out, shaking like a leaf. Dawn grabbed her, slamming the door shut.

There was a loud smashing noise outside, and Dawn moved to the window.

Spike had arrived.

* * *

Spike was on top of Angelus, wrestling him away from the house. "You're so bloody predictable!" he crowed. "You always go back for the witch. Real smart, Angelus, real smart!"

Angelus kicked him off with some vestiges of the strength Buffy's blood lent him. "What is this, your master plan, Spike?" he asked derisively. "One on one against a vampire who's bigger, stronger, and a better fighter? Please."

He punched Spike, sending him reeling. "Oh, I'm sorry," said Angelus. "Has that forced pig's blood diet made you weak?"

Spike came flying back, slamming a fist into Angelus, knocking him back. "No weaker than that voluntary diet of yours has made you!" he sneered. "Sure, I had a plan. Good plan. But I got bored."

They circled each other warily. "Always was your downfall, Willy," sneered Angelus. Right now he had an edge--Slayer blood. But that part of him that was awake all the time remembered that Spike had drunk Slayer's blood not too long ago, enough that this fight wouldn't be entirely one-sided.

"Bit behind, aren't you?" asked Spike. "I go by Spike, now. As in, shoved through your head? That kind of Spike."

Angelus nodded. "And you're trying to tell me you're the same vampire? Please. You're a shadow of that vampire. A pathetic will o the wisp. A phantom. You, the Slayer's lapdog?"

"Oh, we're going to compare our little goodness escapades? How many times have you saved the world?" asked Spike.

"I had a soul," replied the other vampire. "Ergo, it was no fault of my own. What about you, Willy? Did a soul make you do it?" While Spike was distracted, Angelus shot forward, crashing a hand into his face, sending the other vampire flying.

Spike landed on the ground, rolling, and came up in game face. "Yeah? You telling me you didn't enjoy it, even a little? Saving women in distress...puppies..."

Angelus snarled, charging again. Spike moved aside quickly, smashing an arm into Angelus' throat, clotheslining him. Angelus' feet flew up, and he hung in the air for a second before crashing down to the ground with a crunch, his spine slamming into the ground.

He rolled quickly, anticipating the boot Spike slammed into the ground where his head had been.

Angelus growled, scrambling to his feet, shifting into game face and kicking at Spike. Spike dodged, leaving himself open to a solid right hook that spun him off his feet. He wasn't fast enough rolling away to dodge the kick to the head that left him momentarily stunned.

Angelus moved in, pressing his advantage, when his ears caught the twang of a crossbow bolt. He was already overbalanced, but he managed to whirl, bringing his left arm up.

The bolt smashed through his arm, the point stopping inches from his heart, and he overbalanced backwards, falling backwards to the ground, landing on his bottom. He let out a snarl of pain.

Faith calmly dropped the crossbow, taking the one Willow was holding. Willow held up her hands, murmuring a spell under her breath.

Angelus drew his lips back in a silent snarl, scrambling to his feet. "All that work for a vampire?" he asked sarcastically.

"You tell me," said Faith. "Cuz in a second, you're gonna be dust floating in the wind. Wanna take that chance?"

Angelus turning, bounding away. As he faded into the shadows Faith ran forward, tossing the crossbow aside and dropping to her knees by Spike's side. "Spike!" ahe said frantically.

His eyes fluttered open. "You get the number of that bus?" he muttered.

"Yeah," said Faith. "Come on, get up."

He let her help him up, clutching a hand to his head. "Aah! Just like my poofter of a Sire to work out when he should be getting flabby and rusty."

"Inside," said Faith.

"I was gonna ambush him," muttered Spike. He noted Xander's car. "What gives?" He asked.

"We were bringing Buffy home," said Faith. "Doctor said she was out of danger, and she wanted to go home."

"She's awake?" asked Spike.

"Yeah," said Faith, watching his eyes light up and years drop from his face.

Willow collected the cross bows. "Spike, we have problems," she said unhappily.

"What is it, Red?" he asked, slowing to match pace with her.

"I can't get an Orb of Thesula."

He blinked. "What?"

"Anya said she can't get any through her connections. None of my usual suppliers even know what it is!"

Spike smiled. "So we'll just have to kill him, Red. No problems there."

"No," said Buffy, standing inside the door. "You have connections, Spike. Find one." Xander was helping her stand, and she was glaring at Spike.

He stopped, frowning. "What do you expect me to do?"

"Find one," she hissed. "Or, chip or no chip, I'll stake you myself."

She and Xander turned, going inside. Willow followed them. Spike stood there with Faith, staring. "Bugger."

Faith felt a wave of revulsion pass through her for a moment. This was her friend, Angel, that Spike was talking about killing. Not just the monster Angelus.

"Hey," she said when Spike turned away. He looked back at her, irritation on his face. "You know, if you get Angel back, he's going to have to get away from Buffy twice as fast as before. Just more proof he can't be around her." Spike's eyes flashed. "And you'll have earned some points in her book."

"You think so?" asked Spike hopefully.

"Yeah," said Faith. She felt another wave of revulsion, this time at herself. Was this what being selfless was all about? It was stupid. She was letting the vampire she wanted go—helping him pursue the other, better Slayer, all to get her friend back.

All to keep Angel alive.

You owe me one, Angel, she marked in her head.

Spike grinned, turning away. "I'll go touch up my contacts."

What was this feeling deep in her gut? Oh, yeah. Bitterness. Envy. Even a little hate for Buffy.

Faith wasn't sure when, but her lust for Spike, and her selfish pursuit of him—at some point it had turned into love. Not some pure love like Angel and Buffy shared—Faith wasn't sure she had room inside her for anything pure. This love was probably as dirty and bruised and overripe as the rest of her.

But it was something. Something she'd never felt before. Something that she had kept out of herself, pushing away any hint of it.

Something that gnawed at her gut hopelessly.

He'd used her, though. That might not be much, but it was all she had.

She looked around, unsure where to go. She didn't want to be alone tonight—and she couldn't go back to her Watchers.

She glanced at the door of the Summers house, and inhaled deeply. She couldn't go in there—not after all she had done.

That door was closed for her forever.

Still, Angelus was out there. He knew where her hotel room was. He knew where her Watchers were. And she couldn't uninvite him. That was something witches and wizards spoke of. Something that Willow had mentioned once.

Not anything she could ever do.

She moved closer to the door. They hated her, sure. But so had everyone in prison. What was the worst they could do?

She cringed at the thought of the looks they could give her. Quailed at the thought of the words they could throw at her.

But Angelus was out there. And she had no super strength.

She took another step in, and knocked on the door.

Tara opened the door. "Oh, Faith," she said. She fidgeted just a bit. "C-come in."

Faith tried for a genuine smile, but her face had forgotten how to make one. She managed a smirk that was at least a little friendly. "Thanks," she said awkwardly.

Xander was sitting with Buffy and Willow, and they all looked at Faith suspiciously. She gulped. "I just thought..." She trailed away, hearing Tara close the door behind her, cutting off her escape. "My Watchers tried to kill me," she said quietly. She tapped her arm. "Drugged me with this stuff—took away my strength."

Buffy frowned. "How did you escape?" she asked suspiciously. Her voice was cold—so very cold. Faith held back a shiver.

"Spike was there. It was just after you and Angel left."

"What happened to Giles?" asked Buffy, frowning.

"I don't know," said Faith, realizing for the first time that leaving him behind that way had been a major betrayal. "Spike and I were running—there was a shot—and then we met Angelus." She shrugged. "There hasn't been much time to mount a search."

Buffy stared at her. Xander was the one who voiced what they all were thinking. "And you just left him there?"

"He's safer there than here!" said Faith defensively. "With Angelus on the loose."

Buffy shook her head. "In the daylight, when I'm rested, we'll see about Giles."

Faith cast her eyes downward, avoiding the glares she knew where out there. She pretended to study her nails, attempting to look unconcerned.

Dawn, sitting on the stairs, was just watching Buffy. "Are you guys gonna stay here tonight?"

Willow shook her head. "We need to put an uninvite on Xander's apartment," she said. "And the Magic Box is off limits—we'll have to explain to Anya."

"I think she'll understand," said Xander grimly.

"I-I'll come," said Tara. They gathered up the crossbows, eyeing Faith.

"Oh, for crying out loud," she said. "No super-strength, right? I bet Dawn could take me down a notch right now."

Dawn swallowed. "I'll go get some blankets and stuff. For the couch." She stood up and headed up the stairs.

"We'll be back, Buffster," said Xander, eyeing Faith. He took off with the two Wiccans after a second.

Faith sighed, leaning against the wall, eyeing Buffy. She wanted so very much to ask the other girl if she realized how very lucky she was to have Spike's unconditional love, but she didn't dare.

Buffy watched her. "So, you and Spike, eh?" she asked sarcastically. "Can't say I didn't see that coming. The two of you are—"

"Sluts to the core?" sneered Faith.

"Adrenaline junkies," said Buffy. "He was waling on you pretty hard core in the cemetery, and you just let him."

Faith touched the already healing bruises on her face. It was good to know that the Slayer healing, at least, was still with her. "He wasn't in control."

"You think he didn't enjoy it?" prodded Buffy.

Faith exploded. "Oh, and how long did it take you to hit the sack and steal your boyfriend's soul?" she said with a sneer. "Your vampire boyfriend."

Buffy flushed, looking away. "That's different."

"At least when I bed men they wake up with their soul!" snapped Faith.

"Do they?" asked Buffy. "Spike doesn't seem to have his, now."

Faith growled. "Why'd you do it?" she asked. "You couldn't expect him to do anything but bite you. And then—did you even expect to wake up?" She remembered the odd way Buffy had been acting, and it began to add up in her mind. "Or maybe you liked it in hell! Maybe you're trying to get back there!"

Buffy looked back. "It wasn't hell."

Faith stopped talking, letting that sink in. She knew even less than the other girl about heaven and hell, about good and evil and just rewards. But she knew enough to understand what Buffy meant.

"You did hope to wake up dead," said Faith, understanding more than Buffy could have ever realized. She moved closer. Buffy eyed the darker girl, as if daring her to try something. Faith wanted to apologize, but she couldn't. She didn't know how, and it was too late to start now. "I talked to Spike. He'll get the orb," she said, trying to let the other Slayer know she was trying.

Buffy's eyes flashed. "What did you say?"

"I said if he got it Angel would go away and he'd get brownie points with you."

"An appeal to selfishness."

"That's all you have right now," said Faith sharply. For a second she tried to work out the logic of her words, but there didn't appear to be any. Or maybe there was, and she was just too stupid to understand her own retorts now.

She'd occasionally been too stupid to understand other people's retorts. Never her own.

Or maybe she was just angry because Buffy had taken a shot at Spike, and she didn't like that. A jealous streak? Protective feelings?

She had no experience with those, either.

Buffy eyed her, and Faith wondered if she was more worried that Buffy would ascribe the truth behind her actions to her, or something else.

Something else might be better.

Buffy watched her, and Faith wondered if the other Slayer was even trying, now. Faith was trying to get along. About as hard as she could. But the blonde just sat there, hostility written all over her face.

What had Spike said to Faith? Something about not taking things out on him? Perhaps Buffy did have a lot to worry about—a lot to take out on something.

"You're just venting, now," said Faith, trying to do what Spike had done. He'd seen right into her, and then had defused her with a few well-placed words. Of course, defusions weren't Faith's specialty. She specialized in setting bombs off.

"What?" said Buffy, surprised.

"You came back from heaven to a hellish life. Whoop-di-doo. You stole your boyfriend's soul. I'm sure it's all really hard for you," said Faith. "You wanna take it out on some whipping boy, then wait for Xander to get back."

Buffy scowled at Faith. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I?" asked Faith, rubbing her hands up her arms, across the rough leather of Spike's duster. "I've done my share of it. I ought to recognize it when I see it."

"I don't see how Spike and you spent any time together without tearing each other into bits."

"We didn't," growled Faith.

And there was a pleasant thought—tearing into Spike.

Just another reminder that she had no strength at all in her limbs. No more than an ordinary, helpless girl. It grated against every fiber of her being to be helpless—to need anybody's help.

She could see that Buffy knew that frustration.

"You never did appreciate your life," said Faith. Buffy glared at her. "You took it for granted—even that one time that I stole it, I knew that. Sure, it seems like some kind of hell to you—you've got two men who love you, friends at your side..." She trailed off, thinking of Buffy's mother, one of the best women she'd ever known.

Dead, of course. "And a Watcher who isn't trying to kill you," Faith added with a growl.

"If he's still alive," said Buffy morosely.

Faith wanted to slap Buffy. "And a little sister who idolizes you!" she snapped. "Look at that, and tell me that isn't more than anybody needs?"

"I'm broke," said Buffy softly. "With bills piling up."

"So get a job!" snapped Faith. "What's money? Little paper things that grease the wheels of society? The root of all evil?"

The door behind Faith opened as she was speaking, and Gissard cleared his throat. "Actually, it's the love of money that's the root of all evil," he said, clutching the doorknob as if it were a lifesaver.


	23. Blood feud

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nada. Zip. Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy do own them. And they make money off them; I don't. Go figure.

Summary: An AU Season Six, I guess. Angelus is back, Faith is back, and she's deeply in love with Spike, who got a soul and lost it again faster than you could imagine.

* * *

Chapter 23: Blood feud

Spike considered Clem's profile, wondering for a moment if the normally harmless demon blamed him for getting his blood sucked out of his body. It hadn't really been Spike's fault—Clem was a balanced demon, one who had equal amounts of good and evil in him. That sort of thing was liable to get your blood sucked out.

"Nope," Clem reported cheerfully, moving back from the computer. Spike felt a hot flash of irritation run through him.

"What?"

"I can't get an Orb of Thesula. They're extremely rare, and it looks like the only one that was in stock was bought up by somebody in Russia."

Spike growled, frustrated. "Russia? Fantastic."

Clem watched his sometimes-friend pace the floor of the apartment. "Hey, now," said Clem. "You know, there's other ways to get what you want, with magic."

"No, there isn't," said Spike, waving a hand. "I've done my homework. Any spell involving souls needs an orb to hold the soul."

"That's not what I mean. There's all kinds of other magic in the world, besides the magic that you're trying to use here. Wiccan magic, obviously, but also the kind wizard's like that friend of yours use, darker magic like the kind that keeps you alive—even the kind that priest uses. There's even that Harry Potter kind of magic—and don't you start with that whole 'it's just a story' kick again! I know non- fiction when I read it!"

Spike chuckled. "All right, you think we could ask Gissard?"

"Your friend?" Clem scoffed. "He's got less power than even the little mousy Wiccan you brought by with Dawn a few weeks back, you know. Oh, sure, it's all useful in a fight, but it's not the kind of magic that could do something powerful."

"So what do I need?"

"Well, I know this guy in Africa, who's supposed to be able to do anything. I mean, we're talking world-changing stuff, here."

"Africa? That's almost as bad as Russia," sniped Spike. "I need something here and now."

Clem sighed, shrugging. "I don't know much else that could help."

"Yeah, I have terrific underworld contacts," muttered Spike.

Clem shrugged again, uncomfortable suddenly. "Hey, how'd that soul work out for you?"

"It was okay," said Spike. "Not really world shattering, but kind of pleasant. It's kind of hard—trying to remember what I felt with it. But it wasn't that bad. Certainly not as bad as that ponce Angel makes it out to be."

Clem chuckled. "Oh, that's good. I was afraid you'd gone totally insane."

Spike shook his head. "Naw, it was nothing. I might just go for another one, if we can get one for Angelus. O' course, not one with that silly perfect happiness clause. That's just ridiculous."

Clem smiled. "Hey, if you really want a soul, I know a way to get it."

Spike glanced at him sharply. "What?"

"This law firm, Wolfram and Hart. They say they can do anything—some of the finest shamans in the business work there," said Clem innocently.

Spike turned to leave with an oath.

"Where are you going?" asked Clem.

"To go see Faith's Watcher."

* * *

Faith was a creature of instinct. Her first instinct was to charge Gissard as he entered the Summers' house—to slam the door into him, sending him flying.

Unfortunately, the little injection he'd given her earlier rendered her weak and helpless. She bounced off the door as she tried to slam him back outside, and he entered.

Giles stepped in behind him, a concerned look on his face.

"Giles!" said Buffy, getting up, something very close to a happy look on her face.

He stared at the bandages on her neck, then glanced to Faith, who had fresh pink scar tissue along her own throat. "I do hope this isn't the start of some new trend."

"Angelus is back," said Faith, eyeing Gissard.

"I come in good faith," said Gissard, lifting his hands. "I brought back Giles intact, didn't I?"

"Although I'm still not certain why," murmured Giles.

Faith eyed Gissard, trying to interrogate him without words. It was difficult to do while knowing that he could probably take her in hand to hand combat.

He shrugged. "Quayle knew I was trying to tip Faith off that she was in trouble earlier. He's spent the last four years telling me if I took a step out of line he'll kill me. It doesn't exactly breed trust and goodwill."

"So you hope we'll protect you?" asked Faith. "After you stuck me with that power-sapping stuff?"

Gissard moved uncomfortably on his feet. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was trying to save my own life. Faith—I don't know that I could have stopped Quayle, even if I had tried. He's impervious to my magic, warded by spells set by powerful witches."

Faith's eyes flashed. "So you threw me to the wolves?" she asked.

"I'm one of the wolves," said Gissard. "Spike's little escape—along with Giles' marksmanship—gave me an opportunity to escape Quayle. If you won't help me at all, then I'll be heading out. Quayle will be looking for me, soon, and I don't intend to be caught by him."

"You're a wizard, aren't you?" asked Buffy.

"Er, yes," he said.

"We need a spell to return Angel's soul," said Buffy.

He blinked. "Return his soul..." The implications were clearly written on his face as he considered Buffy closely, examining the bandages around her throat. "That kind of magic is beyond me."

Giles cleared his throat. "Is Willow—?"

"She can't find an Orb of Thesula," said Faith. "Spike's looking for one now, sounding out his contacts."

Giles nodded, watching Buffy. "Er, Buffy, could I have a word?"

Buffy looked around, then nodded. "Let's go up to my room."

Dawn met them on her way down the stairs, laden down with blankets and sheets. She smiled at Giles and frowned at Gissard.

"Right here," said Faith, holding up a hand. Dawn blinked, then tossed the blankets to her. Faith tossed them on the couch, watching Gissard. "You got something to say?"

He shook his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I fear that, now that my fate has become more intertwined with yours than ever, I'm suffering from a loss for words," he grumbled. "Certainly I thought you were the rash Slayer, and perhaps it was because I don't know as much about the nature of the Slayer as the other Watchers."

Faith snorted. "Rash? Sometimes I'm downright calculating compared to B."

"B? Hm." Gissard shook his head, glancing to Dawn.

"Give her a break," spat Dawn. "She just came back from the dead. You do that once or twice and we'll see how you do."

Gissard shrugged. "I'm certainly not one to throw stones from my glass house. I'm just worried. Everything I've heard about Angelus, sans soul, indicates that he's a ruthless, vicious monster, and pretty near unstoppable."

Faith shrugged. "He's my friend," she said flatly. "We aren't going to try to stake him. Just to cast that spell before he does too much he'll regret later."

* * *

Angelus was still trying to find any of the Slayers friends alone when he stumbled upon the priest, standing in the middle of the empty street, staring up at the sky.

"Praying?" asked Angelus, approaching him.

"Preying?" asked the priest. Angelus frowned, halting.

"You mean, am I preying on humans? Yes."

"You mean, am I praying to God? No. I was waiting to see if you were here."

"You've been expecting me?" asked Angelus, puzzled.

"Of course. Don't you recognize me?" asked the priest.

Angelus shook his head. "I remember you from when you dangled a cross under Angel's nose a while back, but that's all."

"I've changed a good deal. I came to Sunnydale because of the portents. I was surprised you didn't see them—given that they signaled your rise."

"They did?" asked Angelus, amused now.

"Yes," said the priest. "It was a sure thing that if you returned to Sunnydale, this would happen. The beast within would rise."

"I guess I should thank Angel for not seeing them," said Angelus with a grin.

"No, not really. Wolfram and Hart has been thwarted. Their design lays in chaos."

Angelus shrugged. "Not my problem."

"You think that because you have no soul they will allow their vendetta against you to fade?" asked the priest. "I think not."

Angelus shrugged. "Then they'll die."

The priest smiled thinly. "I've accumulated a good deal of power recently, Angelus. Dark, fey power from the Hellmouth."

"You have a point?" asked Angelus, bored now.

"I have plans for this town, for this Hellmouth," said the priest. "I used Ozymandius and the various riffraff of this town to further them. But I have a feeling it wouldn't be so easy to use you."

"I would hope not."

"I would like to propose a bargain."

"A bargain?" asked Angelus incredulously, crossing his arms.

The priest smiled. "I think you'll find this one to your liking, Angelus. Soon there will come a time when the Slayer discovers my plans, and will try to oppose me. I am not as strong as you, and the forces I'm bringing to bear are not yet ready to oppose her. With an ally as strong as you...I would not fear the Slayer."

"And what would I get in return?" asked Angelus.

The priest's smile turned feral. "Do you recall the Gem of Amara?"

"Angel destroyed it."

"I could replicate its effects," said the priest. "I could make you the most powerful vampire on earth."

Angelus was beginning to be interested. "You can do that now?"

"No, not yet. I haven't completed the gathering of my powers. If you can keep me safe till the Hellmouth awakens, I can give you these things."

Angelus grinned. "Let's just get a few things straight first. Ally, not lackey."

The priest nodded, triumphant.

* * *

Spike sat atop his crypt, waiting. He knew that eventually Angelus would come for him—it was part of the older vampires' desire to be surrounded by minions, as well as his ability to spot threats and neutralize them.

Even with a soul, he'd been driven to confront Spike. It would be no different now. Spike was a good potential minion, as well as a good potential enemy. Angel was far too smart--no, cunning was a better term--to ignore Spike now.

Spike lit a cigarette, watching the horizon. He could sense the imminent sunrise, and knew that if Angelus didn't show up soon the third confrontation between the now soulless vampires would have to wait till tomorrow.

He didn't want to wait till tomorrow. Plans like his had a way of back- firing on him if waited upon.

Vincent stepped out of the shadows, smiling at him. "Ah, Spike. This time without your little support group."

Spike blinked, surprised. "Ah, go figure," he muttered, tossing the cigarette aside. His fingers momentarily flickered, the energy inside him unwilling to wait for Angelus to arrive. Like most his plans, this one didn't have a lot of leeway for his own inevitable deviations from it.

"We've taken your soul—meaning that you are no longer in the running for the Shanshu prophecy," said Vincent. "The chip has been restored. We are, as they say, back to square one. Would you like to begin negotiating a new contract?"

Spike shook his head, flicking his hands over the book of matches he'd been using to light his cigarettes. "I think I'm done with contracts with you lot."

Vincent smiled. "We can reconfigure the chip again to allow you to hit humans," he said. "We have control of it. We could also use it to kill you."

Spike shook his head. "Not the point."

"Isn't it? Wouldn't you love to feed?"

Spike smirked. "Sure. I'd love to tear your throat out and feed from you right now. But that's irrelevant! You're irrelevant!"

Vincent shook his head. "You can't hit me without the chip firing," he reminded Spike.

Huge hands grabbed Vincent's shoulders from behind, jerking him backwards. As he drew in a breath, preparing to struggle, the large vampire behind him pushed his head down onto his neck, slamming his fangs into Vincent's neck. Vincent struggled, screaming for help, but he was dead inside a minute, drained dry, his throat torn out.

Angelus dropped the limp body to the ground, and smiled a bloody grin at Spike. "I hate lawyers," he confided.

"Yeah?" said Spike, sounding bored. "Kind of figured. They like to control you—get in your head and think that they own you. And I knew there was nothing you hated more than that."

Angelus shrugged. "You wanted me to tear this guy up?" Nothing was worse to him than the idea that instead of accidentally doing what the lawyers wanted he had done what Spike wanted.

Spike shook his head. "I didn't even figure on him being here," he admitted. "Totally bolloxed my plans, too. I was planning on tearing you up."

"That's because you're nothing but a failure," sneered Angelus, dismissive of Spike's plan. "A failure as a man, a failure as a poet, and a failure as a vampire."

Spike sighed. "You know, I didn't think a soul was all that when I got mine, but you know what?" He jumped down, landing lightly on his feet. "You were actually a lot less annoying with a soul."

Angelus growled. "Now you're annoyed by evil?"

"No. Pure stupidity—that annoys me."

Angelus growled.

They met in the center of the cemetery with a loud crunch as bone met bone. They smashed together, muscles fueled by unearthly magic and the dark theft of blood struggling against each other.

Angelus had more fuel from the human blood he'd been feeding on. Even the faint traces of Buffy's blood, stolen earlier that night, filled him with strength.

But Spike was fueled by rage and passion. Even though the other vampire was larger and stronger, Spike's blows were desperate and quick, driving back the larger vampire.

After a moment they both backed off, surprised that it was so near to an even match. Both vampires were arrogant enough that they had thought, even with all their past experiences with each other, that the battle was going to be over faster than that.

Angelus recovered first, charging forward, grabbing Spike by the neck, intending to smash his head against his own crypt.

Spike grabbed Angelus' hands with his right hand, reaching into his back pocket with the left. He slammed a hypodermic needle into Angelus' right wrist, barely flicking the plastic cap off with his thumb first. Angelus growled, pulling his hand back, and Spike danced back.

"What is this?" asked Angelus. "You've been taking up morphine use, Spike?" He sniffed the needle, tossing it aside.

"Little concoction a friend loaned me," said Spike. "Made for Slayers, actually, but just for you, that's a double dose."

Angelus started forward, aiming a blow for Spike's nose. To his surprise, Spike didn't move. The fist slammed into Spike's nose, and Spike rocked back. Angelus stared at his hand, surprised. The blow he'd sent at the younger vampire should have sent him flying.

"It's what took Faith's powers away," said Spike smugly, punching Angelus. Angelus flew backwards, slamming into a gravestone, and Spike approached him, kicking him in the face.

He continued to wale on Angelus till the older vampire was unconscious. After he was sure the vampire was out he nodded. "All right, you can come out now."

Clem shuffled out of the crypt, holding a chain with a cross on it in his hands.

"I don't understand why vampires react like this to holy symbols," he muttered, putting the chain on Angelus. The cross began to burn the vampire, and Clem quickly wrapped the cross in his handkerchief.

"It has to do with the magic that animates dead bodies," said Spike. He shrugged. "Never been able to get anyone to explain it to me, either."

Clem stood back. "What now?"

"You're the one with the car," said Spike, hoisting his Sire up onto his shoulder. "Let's go, eh? I want to be on the road when the sun rises."

"Sure."

Spike hesitated. "Wait," he said, his mind whirling with dark possibilities. "There's one thing I have to do before I go."

* * *

Faith stirred on the couch, blinking. Everything looked large and blurry, so she reached up and rubbed her eyes. When she opened them again she could make out Buffy standing by the window, looking out into the morning light.

Faith staggered to her feet, momentarily off balance. Carefully she made her way to the other Slayer's side.

For a second they just stood there staring out into the new day. Faith knew if she tried to say anything she'd just mess this moment up, whatever the moment was, or whatever it meant. So she put a hand on Buffy's shoulder, just setting it there.

Buffy gave a little half jump, but didn't protest it.

Faith understood all too well what Buffy was feeling. She'd understood it last night, despite her protests, as soon as she had almost listed Buffy's mom as a reason Buffy should have stayed.

Buffy's mom was dead too. Joyce. She had died years before, of something perfectly natural and not at all involved with the Slaying. She'd died, and left a hole in Buffy's heart.

A hole that had apparently been filled while Buffy was dead. A hole that had been once again torn open and left bleeding all over the ground.

Faith stood there, trying to convey her understanding, her sympathy, through her hand. She knew, lacking a miracle or the sudden evolution of some telepathic power that she'd never had before, that it wouldn't happen.

But at the very least maybe she could help Buffy a little. And words wouldn't do any good--all Faith could do with words was hurt, tear, and Slay. So the non-telepathic hand was the best she could do.

Buffy didn't shrug the hand off or move away. Faith hoped that was a good sign.

"It's hard," murmured Buffy.

Faith wondered just what she meant. Living? Living without Joyce? Stealing Angel's soul? "I know," she said, trying to make the words comforting instead of a sneer. She hoped her face was blank.

"You don't know," said Buffy, and she sounded as hard as steel and as if she might cry all at once. "You can't know."

Faith didn't want to argue, but she was pretty sure she could understand. She kept silent. This was still more than she had gotten out of Buffy last night, and she wanted to see where it went.

"It wasn't even about our love anymore, not last night," said Buffy. "I was just using him—using the man I loved."

Faith nodded uncomfortably. It took a lot of willpower not to hit Buffy, and the fact that Buffy had her superpowers while Faith didn't was probably the only thing that stopped her. Angel was one of the only ones who had ever been there for her. Angel was her friend. Hearing that Buffy had only been using him—yeah, if she had her strength, she'd kick her butt for this.

"We can make it okay," said Faith. Her voice sounded rough to her—next to the faint whisper of Buffy's voice, it was a discordant, grating noise. And while Buffy sounded sad, she still sounded angry--but she couldn't change it, couldn't make herself sound some other way at will.

Buffy leaned into Faith's arm, and turned her head. Faith was surprised to see tear tracks running down her cheeks. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I need...I'm going to go take a shower."

As she left Faith hoped that they'd broken through something. She and Buffy had never been friends. They'd come close that one night, but all that had led to was Faith leading Buffy down the slippery slope she had been treading.

Maybe Buffy could have saved her, then, if Faith hadn't killed a man.

There was a knocking at the door, and Faith opened it. Spike barreled in, covered by an old blanket. He tossed it aside, stepping into the shadows. "Close the door!" he said urgently. Faith closed it, watching him, and he let out a sigh of relief, brushing at his chest, which was starting to smoke. "Thanks, pet."

Faith felt her heart speed up when he called her pet, and cursed herself. She tore her eyes off his face and marched towards the couch brokenly.

He was just there to see the newly resurrected Buffy. Not to see her at all.

"Hey," said Spike, following her. "I need your help."

"What?" she said, turning.

He was standing there, his eyes soft. "With Angelus. I think I can take him, but he drank Buffy's blood...Slayer blood. If I'm going to beat him, I'll need some too."

"And then you can get his soul back?" asked Faith sharply.

Spike nodded. "We've got a plan, but I'll need the blood to take him."

Faith stared at him, and knew instantly that she'd do it. He'd bit her before. And besides, with the state she was in, without her strength, this was the only way she could contribute.

She proffered her wrist to him.

He stared at it, and shook his. He tapped the side of his head. "Chip, love," he said apologetically. "I can't bite you."

She nodded. He offered her a knife out of his pocket, a small folding knife. She stared at it for a minute, then sank it into her wrist, wincing at the pain.

As the blood welled up he stared at it, all but licking his lips.

He moved in, licking the blood on her wrist. She shivered at the feeling. "Not too much, now," she cautioned him, knowing the warning was too late even as she said it.

His lips descended on the wound, and he drank. Pain like a white-hot poker shot up her arm as the blood was pulled out, and she gritted her teeth against the wave of pain and nausea. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she nearly toppled over.

"Stop," she whispered. He ignored her, continuing to suck at her wrist. "Stop!" she said louder, her voice weak now. He continued to ignore her.

Starting to panic, she tried to pull away. He resisted, which caused another flare of pain. This time his chip fired, and he winced, letting her go reluctantly, licking the blood off his lips.

She staggered backwards, sitting down roughly on the couch. She pressed a hand to the wound on her wrist, which began to itch fiercely.

Spike turned his back to her, and she could see the sudden tenseness in his shoulders. "That should do it," he said gruffly. "With that blood in me, I'll be able to save Angelus...Angel. I'll bring him back to you hale and hearty. I... I promise."

He picked the blanket back up and left quickly.

Buffy came back downstairs, wearing a white robe. "Did I hear Spike?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Faith weakly. "He had a plan."

Buffy stared at Faith's pale face, and scowled. "Did you let him bite you?" she demanded, and there was a world of anger in that voice.

Faith nodded. "He needs the strength."

Buffy turned around and headed up the stairs.

Faith sat alone for a moment, and resisted the urge to scratch her bloody wrist. She'd done what needed doing. That was all that mattered.

Buffy returned, a white box in her hand. She knelt in front of Faith. "Let me see it," she ordered.

Faith removed her hand, revealing her wrist. The single cut from the knife still clutching in her other hand stood out, a bright red wound against pale white skin.

Buffy calmly began cleaning and dressing the wound. "You shouldn't have done that," she said, her voice soft.

"Yeah, the two of us, we spend way too much time on the wrong end of a vampire's teeth," joked Faith.

"I'm serious."

"What else could I do, B?" asked Faith desperately.

Buffy looked up, meeting Faith's eyes. Faith could see the desperation in Buffy's eyes, and knew it was reflected in her own. A desperation born from the loss of Angel, the return of his soulless side, and the constant betrayals of those who were supposed to help. "I don't know," said Buffy. She sounded tired.

"We'll figure something out," Faith told Buffy, putting her other hand on top of Buffy's hands.

Buffy shook her head, climbing up onto the couch and sitting beside Faith. Faith fidgeted with the medical kit, putting the contents back in.

"Tonight we'll go sort out your Watcher," said Buffy. "Then we'll go sort out Angelus. Simple."

"And the rest?" asked Faith.

Buffy shrugged. "We'll let the Scoobies sort the rest. That's what sidekicks are for, right?"

Faith thought that this was a moment where she should put a hand on Buffy's shoulder again, or put an arm around Buffy. But here, now, after Buffy had bandaged her wrist, she just couldn't see it. It would be too awkward. Too weird. So she kept her arms down.

Buffy sat with her in silence, and soon enough sleep deprivation took its toll on them both. When Dawn came down she found them asleep beside each other, leaning against each other.

* * *

Angelus woke up lying on a hard floor. He groaned, rolling over, only to find his hands tied behind his back. "What is going on?" he demanded.

Spike was leaning against the wall. "The boat set sail," he said darkly, trying not to let any of the humor of the situation make him laugh insanely. "We're on our way to Africa."

"Africa?" said Angelus incredulously. "What's in Africa, Willie?"

Spike shrugged. His hands were still, and Angelus shifted, trying to see his face better in the darkness of the cabin. "What're you planning?" asked Angelus.

"Oh, you'd be proud of me," Spike assured Angelus. "I bit the Slayer, got her to cut herself and give me her blood. So I'd be strong enough to fight you."

"Last night?" asked Angelus. "Before we fought?" He thought that might explain why Spike had been so wired--so close to being his equal. He still believed he would have been the inevitable winner, of course. How could Spike beat him by any means other than trickery.

"No," snorted Spike. "After we fought!"

Angelus laughed, realizing the joke. "You lied to get her blood!"

"Intoxicating stuff," admitted Spike. "It was a perfect opportunity. She's in love with me, you know. She'd do anything I told her to do—anything I asked." And the lie had been so easy. She'd wanted to believe that he needed any part of her--that he needed that tasty blood.

"Even donate blood to you!" crowed Angelus. He laughed again, throwing his head back.

"Thought you might appreciate that," said Spike. His tone wasn't cheerful, not even in the dark sort of way Angelus had expected.

"You don't feel bad about that, do you?" asked Angelus suspiciously, noting Spike's reticence.

"No," said Spike. "I just wonder...? I would have taken Buffy's, too."

"Hers is good stuff," said Angelus, nodding.

"Ozymandius said I'd do that," said Spike sadly. "Way back when he showed up. He said I'd feed on the woman I loved. I'm a soulless demon—we always feed on the things we love. And he was right. If Buffy had bought my line, I'd have gladly drunk her blood." He looked disturbed by the thought. "And could I have stopped, if she wouldn't stop me?"

"Buffy's a bit more canny, though," said Angelus, nodding. "And not nearly as in love with you. More in love with me." He grinned. "Isn't that always the way, Willie?"

"Oh, it is," said Spike grimly. "Every bloody time."

"Almost makes me proud of you," said Angelus. "You're stealing blood like a pro. Why are you doing this?" He nodded at his hands, tied up.

Spike shrugged. "To get in the Slayer's pants."

"I thought you were already in Faith's pants?" asked Angelus slyly.

"Wrong pants."

"Ah." Angelus nodded. "I see. Sacrifice me for a chance with your precious Slayer. You're so pathetic, Spike."

"I know it."

Angelus laughed. "Stealing Angel's redemption, though—that was brilliant!"

Spike nodded, smirking. "Any way I can stick it to you, mate."

"As you would say, bloody brilliant!" Angelus chuckled darkly, staring down at his hands. He didn't like the direction this conversation was taking, but he couldn't stop now. "Now what? You're going to try to give me my soul back?"

"Yep."

"Screw that. You and me, Spike. We could really shake this world up. Go find Drusilla—Darla's out there too. The four of us, together again! Can you imagine that!"

"I can," said Spike softly.

"The Scourge!" whooped Angelus.

"I never liked being part of your Scourge."

"What?" said Angelus, surprised. That had been the best time of his life--even with the annoying Spike along.

"I always hated you. And Darla? Please. At least Buffy was a step up, for you. Drusilla? I did love her. But did she ever love me?" His voice rose with indignation. "Even for a minute, did she ever think of me?!" Spike was screaming now, his voice going still louder. "Never! Was that too much to ask for, just one bloody thought for me?! I lived for her! Bloody women never appreciate what you do for them!" He began pacing, then pointed at Angelus, fixing him with his stare. "You are going to change that. After I do this, how will she ignore me?"

"She'll come right back to me, of course. All the work you do to fix me just destroys any chance of you getting what you want," said Angelus with an easy grin. Spike looked away. Angelus frowned. "And you know that, don't you?"

"Shut up," said Spike.

"That's not what this is all about at all, is it?" pressed Angelus. "You're lying to yourself, rationalizing what you're going to do. Why is my soul that important to you?"

Spike shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Angelus ran their conversation through his mind quickly. "The Slayer," he said, realization flooding his mind. "This is because you bit the Slayer. Twice, isn't it?"

"Yes, twice."

"And you're afraid of your nature, now. Afraid you'll bite the Slayer you love." Angelus' face was slowly succumbing to the anger he felt, and his demonic visage emerged. "You idiot! You're so in love that you like that chip in your head, don't you? And Ozymandius, he said it wasn't enough, and you listened!"

Spike crossed over to Angel and gagged him with a rag he pulled out of his back pocket. "You just be quiet," he said. "We've got some work to do."


	24. Sire

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and I used to be buddies. One day I said, 'hey, I have this cool idea. You know those helpless girls in horror movies? Blonde girls who do stupid things and get killed? Wouldn't it be cool if we did a show and had one of them be the hero—you know, girl power, juice her up. Maybe with demons or something. And give her a ridiculous name like Bunny, the Demon Killer.' Next thing I knew, he'd stolen the idea. Now he makes millions off them while I'm reduced to fanfiction for which I don't get paid! And he owns all the characters! Fortunately, I showed him. I became an evil corporate executive and got all his best shows—Buffy, Angel, Firefly—cancelled! Although it was a hollow victory—I did so enjoy those shows!

Summary: Season Six AU. Faith came back. Angel came back. Spike got his soul. Buffy came back. Faith fell for Spike. Spike lost his soul. Angel lost his. Spike bit Faith. Angelus bit Buffy. Wow, that doesn't even come close to actually telling the story.

Chapter 24: Sire

* * *

Quayle watched the Summers residence from the sidewalk. He knew both Slayers were probably inside, and would probably kill him when they saw him.

If they saw him first.

He checked the gun in his hand, and headed in. The long shadows from the setting sun made a mockery of his careful steps, stretched out across the lawn.

He crept up the porch steps, stepping lightly to avoid any tell-tale creaks. Carefully he put his hand on the doorknob. This would be his finest moment; in the face of all his failures here, on the Hellmouth, he would redeem himself, putting an end to the work of all the rebellious, vampire-consorting Slayers, and restoring the line. He might even get assigned to another Slayer if he did this right.

As he threw the door open a fist hit him in the face so hard that he saw stars.

When the black stars faded away he was lying on the floor, with Faith standing over him, his gun held inexpertly in her hands.

"Oh, that was a good one," said Buffy. "Want to try again?"

Quayle stared at them. He decided on the spot that his entire witty prisoner repertoire was just going to get him in trouble. He set the witticisms aside mentally, wondering just what had possessed him to try to attack two Slayers in their lair.

Oh, yes. One of them had been deprived of her powers, and the other bit by a vampire. Just last night. He'd seen an opportunity, the best opportunity ever, to cleanse the Slayer line. They were both at their very weakest.

Giles came down the stairs, a loaded crossbow in his hand. "Good work," he said, sounding a little smug.

Faith eased her grip on the gun, standing back. Quayle followed her line of sight, spotting Gissard standing in the kitchen, baseball bat in hand. Quayle sighed. "So now you've all gone rogue together, then?"

"Something like that," said Faith. "I guess the Watcher's Council is gonna be really mad at you, huh?"

"Something like that," Quayle echoed grimly.

"I thought you'd all learned your lesson last year," said Buffy. "Before I died. As soon as I was gone you went back to your old ways, didn't you? Use the Slayer. If she doesn't agree with you, kill her."

"You and Faith both defend vampires, instead of killing them!" declared Quayle. "Is it too much to ask the Slayers to Slay?!"

"Yeah, cuz Spike is such a danger to society," said Faith angrily. "And, oh, yeah, Angel, we wouldn't want him to save the world too often."

Quayle flinched back. "They're vampires. Monsters!"

Gissard snorted. "I don't even like them, and I can tell you're losing this argument."

"Here's what I want," said Buffy calmly. "You go back to Travers, and you tell him the agreement we worked out—the one I told him he'd take or else—is still in force. And you can send Faith a Watcher, but he—"

"No," said Faith.

"What?" said Quayle, surprised.

"I want Gissard to stay on as my Watcher," she said flatly.

"What?" said Gissard, surprised. "You think the Watchers will just let you—?"

"What is a Watcher without a Slayer?" asked Buffy. "They have no power. It's the Slayers who have the power."

"Quite so," said Giles approvingly.

Buffy leaned down over Quayle. "Now, we can argue the point, which would probably involve my fist, or you can just run home."

Quayle considered that. "Can I start running right now?" he asked timidly.

"Sure," said Buffy.

"I'd like to begin, then," said Quayle.

Buffy lifted him by his collar and threw him out the door. Faith laughed as he started running.

"You really want me to stay on as your Watcher?" asked Gissard suspiciously.

"New Watchers take too long to train," said Faith. Gissard accepted the answer, turning to Giles, who had lowered the crossbow.

"It appears in some odd way that by poisoning my Slayer I've passed some test. Would you care to explain that?"

Giles shrugged. "Don't look at me. I didn't pass that test." He glanced to Buffy, who smiled.

"You got a D, not an F," she said. "Maybe a C."

"A C?" asked Giles.

Buffy shrugged. "I'm going to go see if I can find Angelus or Spike. Coming, Faith?"

Faith took the crossbow from Giles. "Sure."

"Er..." Gissard trailed off at the look on her face. "I guess that's fine," he said dubiously. "But you're still weak."

Faith shrugged. "I'm the Slayer. It's what I do."

She and Buffy walked away, leaving the two Watchers to discuss their sudden change of position.

Quayle was waiting at the mailbox for them, his face nervous. "Er..." He looked ready to start running again at the slightest sign of danger. "William the Bloody stole the rest of the drugs from me," he said quickly.

Buffy frowned. "The ones you shot Faith up with?" she asked. She glanced to Faith, her eyes filled with dark rage. "There's only one reason he'd want that," she said darkly, thinking of Spike and helpless Slayers.

"No, there's more than one," said Faith calmly. "For Angelus. It'd pacify him in a hurry too, I'd bet."

Quayle inhaled sharply. Buffy turned back to him, pointing away. "Go," she said harshly.

He turned and started running again.

The Slayers exchanged a slow, meaningful glance, then started running towards Spike's crypt.

They got there quickly, eating the ground up with quick strides. Buffy kicked the door in and they ran inside, looking around. There was no sign of Spike.

"He should have waited for us!" growled Buffy.

Faith thought about it for a second. "He must have a plan," she reasoned, putting some faith in him.

"That's worse," said Buffy morosely. "Spike's plans never turn out well."

Faith let out a breath, stepping towards the bed. All around her the duster enveloped her, and a small part of her mind thought that it might be a little like being held in Spike's arms.

Only she'd been held in Spike's arms once, and the rational part of her brain knew it felt nothing like that. It was terrifying.

Maybe it was the fear that she liked. Not a fear that he would bite her, although he had. A fear that he really could understand her. A fear that he was really as close as she thought he was.

Buffy shrugged. "He can't be far away. Spike never goes far."

Faith shook her head. "Maybe." But she didn't really believe it. In her heart she could feel emptiness, and emptiness that had once been filled up. By Angel's friendship, and by Spike's presence.

The fact that he had tolerated her presence had seemed like a lot to her at the time. Now it seemed even more.

They left the crypt silently. Buffy glanced around. "You want to check up on Angel's old mansion? Might be there."

Faith nodded.

* * *

Gissard found Faith early in the morning. She was in Buffy's bedroom, the last place Gissard thought to look. He had thought for a moment or two, when he couldn't find her, that she had left. Fled this home of dreary domestic contentment for another motel room.

Instead she was lying on the floor beside Buffy's bed. Buffy was lying on the bed.

Neither girl stirred at his presence, and he retreated. They certainly didn't need his help, he thought wryly. Indeed, they had rescued him from the one man he had feared, a man they had effortlessly made beg. A deadly assassin trained in the killing of Slayers.

He returned to the kitchen, where Dawn was merrily burning pancakes. "Is Giles around?" he asked, rubbing his unkempt hair.

She gave him a look of contempt. "He won't be by in the day. He has a shop to look after, you know."

"Ah," said Gissard. He felt a little bit like a deadbeat, having spent the night and now hoping to scrounge breakfast off the Summers. "You know, I'm told I can make quite an excellent pancake."

A mousy girl with a pert nose wandered down the stairs. "Oh, Dawnie, you started the pancakes," she said happily. Gissard wracked his brain. He was certain they had been introduced, but her name was a little odd. What was it?

"Of course," said Dawn. "You can take over now."

Gissard gave up and went to sit down at the table. "So you practice magic?" said the mousy girl.

"Nothing like the magic you do, I'm sure," said Gissard. "It's elemental magic—mostly fire. A pale imitation of the powers your own Wiccan magic can call up."

The witch nodded, acknowledging his mastery of the arts or dismissing them, Gissard wasn't sure. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on the pancakes she was preparing. That was either a sign of shyness or hatred, and he had no way of knowing which.

It was a little maddening.

Her name came back to him with a slight fizzle in his mind. Tara.

"Willow and I will be moving onto campus when the semester starts," said Tara quietly.

Dawn nodded. "I thought you might. Now that Buffy's back."

Tara nodded, unconsciously echoing the younger girl's mannerism--or was it Dawn that had adopted the older girl's nod? Gissard couldn't tell. Tara glanced at Dawn, then a quick peek at Gissard, then back to her cooking. "Did Buffy say anything about Spike last night?"

Dawn shrugged. "I went to bed before they got back."

Faith stumbled blearily down the stairs. "Pancakes?" she asked, her voice filled with awe.

"Funny shapes or round?" asked Tara.

Gissard recognized it as an overture—perhaps one of friendship, or peace, perhaps, if they had known each other before he came to Sunnydale. From the way Faith blinked suspiciously, he knew that she didn't recognize it at all.

"Just round for me," said Faith.

Tara nodded, still smiling. "And for you?" she asked Gissard. He was amazed that she managed to put such a friendly overture in when it was clear he was more than a little intimidating in her eyes. He hadn't even managed to be friendly to Faith, even when he'd known how desperately she needed it.

He mustered a smile. "I've never tried pancakes in funny shapes; it sounds delightful."

He hoped he didn't sound like a less-stiff version of Quayle. This sort of easy camaraderie was beyond him, but he would try. At least for a little while.

Then, if it didn't work out, at least he could run away to Mexico with a clear conscience.

Tara smiled. "Funny shapes it is."

Buffy staggered down the stairs, blinking heavily. "Pancakes?" she asked, surprised.

"With funny shapes," said Gissard helpfully.

Over breakfast Buffy's friends talked about money, and Gissard kept his mouth shut. As a wizard he'd always been able to get money by one means or another, very few of them legal. He didn't think they'd appreciate his input.

Faith ate silently, listening to the discussion. "And none of you have jobs, right?" she asked at one point.

"Willow and I are students," said Tara, embarrassed.

Faith grimaced, and Gissard realized she hadn't meant to single the girl out. Maybe he had been wrong and she had recognized the overtures of friendship behind the pancakes. Maybe she just didn't know how to respond to an overture that didn't involve lust. "My point is, there's more than one adult here," she said, looking pointedly at Gissard. "The rest of us can pull our weight too."

An adult thought, coming from her, sounded a little like a blasphemy. Gissard rolled with it, listening to the others talk for a while before excusing himself.

Faith, he noted, watched him walk away with a predator's eyes.

* * *

Buffy and Faith strolled through the cemetery quietly. There wasn't a lot to say, even if they wanted to talk to each other.

"When Willow and Tara move out you can have their room," said Buffy.

Faith glanced at her sharply. "Are you sure you want me there?"

Buffy shrugged. "Yeah. Angel was right about you, you know."

Faith felt a smile tug at her lips, a genuine smile. It felt kind of good, if foreign and unfamiliar. "He's usually right."

"Usually?" asked Buffy, amused.

Faith shrugged, unconsciously mimicking Buffy's actions. "He doesn't think Spike's any good."

"Spike isn't any good. But I doubt Angel's got any objectivity on the subject. Did you know Spike tortured Angel? A couple times, actually."

"Just about a hobby now. I don't know which one to side with. I mean, I should side with Angel, but..."

Buffy smiled. "I know that but. That's the but that goes right before a dumb sentence like 'but Angelus is the man I love, isn't he?' Or something stupid like that."

Faith smiled. Leave it to Buffy to set aside the many differences between their two situations and focus on the few things they had in common. Love for a vampire.

Trust Buffy to see right to the heart of her sick little obsession with Spike.

"I guess so," she said, supremely heartened that Buffy was trying to meet her halfway.

They ran into a few vampires, and one demon. Other than that the patrol was very quiet.

When they got back to the house they paused to ponder the meaning of that.

"Spike must have lured him away somehow," said Faith, unable to figure out where the vampires were, and why they weren't here.

"That or Angelus decided a vampire and two Slayers was bad odds and lured Spike away," said Buffy, worried.

They stood outside the door a moment longer. "I don't want anyone else to worry," said Faith.

"Why not?" asked Buffy.

"This is...this is mine," said Faith, unsure why it was hers, but knowing that it was. "Personal." She was embarrassed to admit the odd possessiveness she felt.

Buffy let out a sigh. "I feel that way too." They stood in silence for a moment.

"What're we going to do about money?" asked Faith.

"Giles has money," said Buffy. "You and I will find jobs, and he'll keep us afloat till we can find something."

"Anything," said Faith. "Although I don't really have any marketable skills."

"Maybe we can find a job where our superstrength is useful."

Faith coughed. "And the whole secret identity thing?"

"Oh, right. Bummer."

"Don't worry," said Faith with a grin. "I'm sure there's some job out there that's perfect for Slayers."

Buffy looked at her sharply. "Jinx," she said. Faith gave a half jump. "You owe me a coke."

* * *

They settled into a routine that was almost restful. Patrolling by night, searching for a job by day. Dawn's summer classes ran out, then she began her fall classes.

Tara and Willow moved out, and Faith got her own room.

Gissard found an apartment in town and a job. It was a stupid job, one he only kept for appearances, while he used his magic to make money. He kept this to himself.

It was during a Scooby meeting that Cordelia called. Xander got the phone.

"Hello, house of Summers here."

"Hello? Um, I'm looking for Angel..."

"Cordy?"

"Xander? Is that you? Did your voice really change at last?"

"Yeah, it's me—you haven't heard?"

"Heard what?"

"He lost his soul."

There was a long silence from both ends after that.

"Who?" asked Cordelia, and her voice was slightly fearful.

"Buffy."

"Buffy's back?"

"Yeah."

"I gotta—I gotta go tell the others. Just in case. Thanks. Bye."

Xander stood staring at the phone. Why hadn't they thought to call down to LA? And since when did Cordelia's voice crack when she heard Angel had lost his soul?

Faith wandered down the stairs. "Who was that?"

"LA," said Xander. "They were missing Angel. I can't believe we didn't tell them before now."

Faith shrugged, trying to remember the LA team. Wesley, the Cheerleader—nobody who would want to see her.

Xander's eyes darted to her hands, and then he began moving away, back towards the safety of the dining room and everybody else.

"Hey," said Faith. Xander froze like a deer in the headlights. "I'm sorry, you know. For, um, trying to kill you." She fled quickly, before he could say anything.

* * *

Clem nervously helped lift Angelus into the trunk of the car Spike had stolen. "Oh, this is a bad idea," he said.

"You wait till we're on another continent to state the obvious?" snapped Spike. He slammed the trunk shut. "Don't worry about it. I'll handle everything. Where to from here?"

Clem pulled a map out of a fold of skin. "Um, it'll be a bit of driving."

"Great," said Spike sarcastically, pulling a small box out of his back pocket. Inside was the drug set he'd stolen from Quayle.

He carefully measured out another dosage for Angel. "I just hope he isn't getting, you know, used to that," said Clem nervously.

"Nah, we're good. I think."

Angelus moaned as Spike shot him up. Then Spike slammed the lid. "Onward."

They drove in silence for a few miles. "After we do it, I don't know what shape we'll be in," said Spike. "I'll need you to get us to safety. Can you do that?"

"Sure."

"I can't believe I'm stuck out here with you," grumbled Spike. "What kind of demon are you, anyway? Can't you handle a little evil, eh? Couldn't you run around with Angelus, help him pillage and destroy?"

Clem shrugged. "It's not so much fun, really."

"I bet."

"I mean, isn't it evil enough to just hang around?" asked Clem. "I'm a weight on society. I don't do productive work. I do the occasional bad deed—but, really, it's all in a balance, isn't it? I mean, neutrality is highly underrated. If you're neutral, nobody tries to kill you."

"And you never kill anyone!" growled Spike. "Isn't that a horrible downside?"

Clem shrugged. "Depends what you consider a downside, I guess."

The next hundred miles passed without a word. As far as Spike could tell, Clem was a little bit insulted by his words. Spike ignored the wrinkled demon, preferring to keep his mind on more pleasant things.

Like Buffy.

Faith's words were little consolation. Spike understood his place in Sunnydale all too well. But, then, his horrible optimism would kick in, and he knew that if he only hung around, if he only helped, if he only protected, he might earn just a little more trust, just a little shred of friendship.

But he knew, deep down in his cynical, blackened heart, that it would never happen.

At this point he was already well in second place, and restoring the competition to wholeness was the only way he could ever hope to hold his own.

He contorted his face into a wordless snarl, driving on into the night, feeling another sunrise coming.

He'd left Sunnydale behind, and perhaps this time he could finally stay away. But even that thought was empty, because now Buffy was back and he must surely return to Sunnydale. Nothing could stop him now.

Not even his own despair.

"I think we need to turn left here," said Clem. The wrinkled demon, Spike's last ally, brought to mind Harmony, for some reason. Maybe it was the loyalty he had displayed; or the lack of thought he'd put into said loyalty.

For whatever reason, Spike found himself wondering what had become of the girl. She'd been a worse failure as a vampire than he had, leaving him wondering just what her future would hold. She wouldn't be going on any extended quests for redemption, that was for sure.

He'd rejected the idea of tracking down the Orb of Thesula in Russia for one reason, eventually. He just couldn't see doing it again every time Angel went crazy, which would be what the Scoobies would expect of him at that point.

Yeah, that wasn't happening.

A permanent solution would be the only he'd get any peace out of the matter.

He stared out into the foggy night. "Here?" he asked.

"Yes," said Clem, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Atmosphere," said Spike, waving his hand. "A place with dark mojo, of course it'd have fog hanging round it. It would hardly be a place for a decent demon to lurk otherwise, would it?"

Clem thought about it. "Poetic, in a way."

"Exactly," said Spike sourly, glancing back at the trunk where Angelus was crammed. "Come on, he's not getting any deader."

As Spike opened the trunk Angelus let out a cough. "Where are we?" asked the older vampire sharply.

"Africa, old chum," said Spike. "Let's go." He hoisted his Sire out of the trunk with strong arms, glancing around. "Seems a nice night for redemption, doesn't it?"

"Get stuffed," said Angelus sourly.

"Oh, I'm sure it won't hurt that much," said Spike.

Clem shifted around nervously. "I don't want to go in there, Spike."

"Me either," said Angelus snidely.

"One of you's going," said Spike. "Clem, you stay here. When the sun sets, it'll be all over."

He wished he felt as confident as he sounded. As Clem watched he grabbed Angelus' arms and pushed the vampire forward, towards the mouth of a cave nearby. He hoped Clem was right and this was the place. Having to wait any longer might get dangerous, especially without some way to pacify Angelus.

He was surprised that the Watchers' brew had been as effective as it had. But he supposed it was inevitable. The Slayer was stronger and faster than them, and could even heal faster. It would have to be a very effective poison to deaden her limbs.

"Spike, think of what you're doing!" said Angelus urgently. "This is against everything you are—everything I've taught you!"

"And there's your first mistake," said Spike grimly. "You were a pretty poor teacher, mate. Better not even to bring up your mistakes."

"This is madness!"

"I am mad," growled Spike.

As they stepped into the cave Spike felt a prickling on the back of his neck. The sort of prickling that told him he was in danger. The sort he usually ignored.

"Can you feel that?" moaned Angelus. "Come on, let's get out of here!"

"Hey!" yelled Spike. "I'm here! You got something I want!"

A tall demon with a dark face stepped out of the shadows. "William the Bloody and Angelus," he said. "Well, well, well."

"I hear you can get stuff done," blustered Spike.

"Oh, yes," replied the demon.

"Well, here I am!" snarled Spike.

"Pathetic!" sneered the demon. "Look at you. Dragging one of your own kind to the gallows. Preparing to destroy your own Sire for what? A woman?"

"We gonna have trouble?" asked Spike.

"I'm kind of hoping," said Angelus, thrilled to see any conflict now. Hoping against hope that this would spare him the soul

"There are trials," said the demon.

"Tests," growled Spike.

The demon smiled. "Yes, tests."

"Can you do it?" pressed Spike. "Give him his soul?"

The demon rubbed his hands together distastefully. "Is that all the price?"

Spike bristled. "You know what? It isn't. I want you to make me the man I was. You have a problem with that?"

The demon shook his head. "Of course not," he said smoothly. "Now, are you ready to begin?"

Spike squared his shoulders. "Let's do it."


	25. Epic

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them and letting my imagination roam free.

Summary: AU Season Six. Angel and Faith came back to Sunnydale. When Buffy returned, Angel lost his soul. Spike took Angelus to Africa to fight for a soul for both of them.

Chapter 25: Epic

* * *

It was, it had to be conceded, an epic moment. A vampire fighting trials to regain his soul, all for the love of a woman.

Spike, lying on the ground curled up into a ball, briefly considered the reasons why this was poetic, not to mention just a little bit heroic. As he ticked them off in his mind he tried to ignore the aching of his shattered ribs. He could feel ugly shards of bone sticking out of his ruined flesh.

He was glad he was 'breathing optional' at times like this. Breathing would have hurt a lot more than anything else.

He tried to remember the reasons he was doing this, and oddly all he could remember was Xander, stupid, helpless Xander. Xander had seen Faith the morning after, and had realized Spike had slept with her, somehow. He'd charged out to kill Spike.

Stupid, useless heroism.

Xander, who was always so protective of Buffy and Faith and Willow, his girls, all of whom had more power than he could ever hope to have. He was the helpless sidekick who had to be rescued, and up until then, when Xander had come after him with a stake, Spike had assumed he was just too stupid to realize it. Spike had thought he was so stupid he thought he was one of the team.

He wasn't that stupid, Spike had come to realize.

It was heroism. The sort of heroism that came to someone with no special powers. The sort of heroism that came to someone who had no sacred callings, no prophecy driving them forward.

Spike wished he had some blood on hand. But he didn't even have animal blood to help his body knit itself back together.

The demon watched him, a sneer on its lips. Spike wanted very badly to have the strength to stand up and wipe that sneer off its face. If the stupid demon gave him one more trial, one more impossible task, he would die. It was as simple as that.

"You've fought well," acknowledged the demon. "The borrowed strength of the three Slayers whose blood you stole, with a will to win and a spirit that's almost...effulgent."

Spike groaned, feeling the icy pain of his back ignite as his muscles tensed at the last word. "Get on with it, you ponce!" he snarled.

"I've already set you to double the tasks, since you wish double the reward," said the demon. "But there is one more task you must face."

"Another task?" gasped Spike.

"Of a sort," said the demon, amused. "You need to prove that you truly want this soul. More than anything."

"I do!" said Spike fervently.

"We will see."

The demon left, leaving Spike there to contemplate his broken arm, and how best to set it.

* * *

Faith rolled out of the demon's way, wincing as the gravel underneath her hit the cuts on her back where his razor sharp claws had chewed through her. She managed to get to her feet, ignoring the sharp lances pricking her back where the gravel had stuck in her wounds.

Buffy charged forward, slashing at the monster expertly with a broadsword. A quick overhand feint, followed by a tight jab at its stomach, and the beast lurched back, wounded. The slight blue sheen around its skin started to blacken as thick black blood pumped from the wound.

Faith hoped that this would signal a turning point in the battle. Unfortunately, it also signaled to the demon that he was losing. Realizing this he lashed out violently, past Buffy's defenses, sending her sprawling.

Faith charged forward, jumping up into the air and scissoring a kick at the demon's head.

He anticipated her, lifting an arm. She slammed into it, feeling bone give as she slammed a foot into it. He howled, but whirled around with a huge handful of claws at eye level. She was still recovering from the kick, and didn't have time to dodge, so she blocked, both arms coming up.

The hard claws dug deep into her arms, and she snarled, reflexively relaxing as the impact slammed her to the ground.

Then Buffy was there, hitting the beast from behind. His head was torn from his shoulders, and his body smashed to the ground, the impact shaking Faith.

She grunted, flexing her fingers, and rolling off her thrice-wounded back. "Aw, dammit!" she muttered, feeling hot blood streaking down her forearms.

Buffy moved beside her, setting the sword aside. She checked Faith's back, her fingers lifting the shreds of the shirt Faith had been wearing. Faith hissed as the cloth pulled at her sticky wounds.

"Just flesh wounds," Buffy proclaimed, but she sounded a little shaken.

"A little gravel rubbed in, huh?" asked Faith.

"Yeah. That'll hurt coming out."

Faith chuckled. After the summer they'd just gone through, a little physical pain felt like therapy. "Okay." She stood up slowly, careful not to move her arms. Buffy checked the arms and let out another hiss of breath.

"That's pretty deep," said Buffy. "We should go back, bandage them up."

Faith nodded. The worst part came later, she knew. When the wounds started to heal, they would begin to itch. They'd be nothing but pink scar tissue in a few days, but the itching could drive her mad.

"You take a lot of hits," said Buffy quietly.

"What?" It wasn't quite defensive when she said it. She managed to modulate it down to a simple exclamation.

"You need to work on dodging. Blocking." There was no judgement in the words, although Faith was pretty sure she deserved at least a little for the way she threw herself into the fights.

Faith managed a tight grin. "I've gotta get me a better Watcher."

Buffy laughed, a genuine laugh she couldn't have managed a few weeks before. "You'll never find one as good as Giles," she warned.

Faith smiled. She had her own opinion of Giles, but she knew that there was a solid friendship behind the words of praise. Faith remembered Wesley, and wondered what had become of him. He had been a completely useless Watcher, but he had betrayed his old friends at the Watchers Council for her, had saved her.

It occurred to her that spending time with Angel must have been good for him.

It also occurred to her that her time with Angel had been good for her, too.

When they got back to the house Xander and Anya were there, which surprised them both. Faith glanced at the clock. "Shouldn't good little carpenters be in bed at this time of night?"

Buffy headed straight for the bathroom where they kept the oft-needed medical kit.

"So should good little waitresses," said Xander easily, as if it was normal banter.

Faith noted that Anya's gaze was on her in way that was markedly different from the way she looked at Buffy. It was a slightly jealous look, but also a slightly angry look. Faith had seem this hostility from the ex-demon before, but it always shook her a little bit.

"What's the problem?" asked Buffy, returning with the bandages.

"I've been asking around for Clem, like you told me to," said Xander. "And this guy...this demon...he told me Clem went to Africa. With a vampire."

Buffy stiffened. "A vampire?" The singular wasn't lost on Faith either, and both watched Xander closely. He shrugged.

"Well, Clem was Spike's friend, wasn't he? I assumed it was Spike."

"It doesn't mean anything," said Faith quickly.

Buffy nodded, but clearly this piece of intelligence fazed her. She moved behind Faith with the disinfectant, and Faith braced herself.

"I'll go see if I can find something for you two to eat," said Xander, heading for the kitchen.

Faith wondered if it was the way Buffy was lifting her shirt, exposing her skin, that sent him running, or the sight of the blood. Either way, she dismissed him as squeamish.

Anya's eyes narrowed, and Faith glared at her. "What's your problem, demonella?" she demanded, tired of tiptoeing around the ex-demon.

"What?" asked Anya, trying for an innocent sound. "I have no idea what you're talking about. It's certainly not as if there's any kind of unresolved tension between us."

Faith rolled her eyes. "Oh, sure, tension."

"There's two kinds of women I don't like around Xander," said Anya, her voice a bit harsh. "Women who've had any kind of relationship with him. And don't think I don't know about your little hijinks with Xander!"

"Hijinks. I just learned a new euphemism," said Faith, amused. Buffy listed in silence, dabbing at Faith's wounds. In a way Faith was grateful; the conversation was helping her ignore the fire running up and down her back.

"And other kind is women that've tried to kill Xander. Which often means women in the first category too." Anya pointed her finger at Faith. "Making you a double threat. I'm just warning you now, stay away from Xander." She stalked into the kitchen after Xander.

"You know, I think I'm kind of glad she's with Xander," said Buffy.

"Oh?" said Faith, surprised.

"Yeah. She watches his back—keeps him out of trouble."

"Keeps him away from murdering sluts?" asked Faith.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "Which is good for Xander. I used to save him every other week, you know."

Faith snorted. "I bet."

"No, really. Did I ever tell you about the giant praying mantis who tried to kill him?"

* * *

Wesley and Gunn together managed to grapple the demon to the floor. "Stab him! Stab him!" screamed Wesley.

Cordelia smashed a sword through the demon's eye, and he made a gurgling noise, thrashing around, throwing Wesley and Gunn off. They flew away, smashing into the walls of the alley.

The demon thrashed a few more times and then fell still.

"Death throes?" asked Lorne, from behind a dumpster.

"Yep," said Cordelia, her voice halfway to cheerfulness. "Guys, are you all right?"

"Fine," groaned Wesley.

"Great," said Gunn, standing up. "The best piñatas in town."

Lorne sighed, standing up and dusting himself off. "Yes, I can see where Angel-cakes would have been a little helpful there."

Wesley stood up, but then sat back down. "Let's play a little game of what if?" he said bitterly.

"Wes, don't start. Please," begged Cordelia.

"What if I had been a better Watcher? Angel would still be here, because there'd have been no Slayer to go rescue. What if I had let the Council kill Faith? No Slayer to go rescue, and Angel would still have his soul." The self-loathing in Wesley's voice was harsh and grating. Even Gunn looked a little miserable as he kept talking.

"And while we're at it, let's thank the PTB!" said Cordelia, trying to calm him down. "If the Powers had seen fit to send me a vision, we could have all run to Sunnydale to prevent it! You're not the only one to blame, Wes."

Wesley grunted. "No, just the most immediate."

* * *

Faith swung herself on the parallel bars, watching Buffy slam her fists into the punching bag. The blonde Slayer had a dark rhythm, keeping the bag always moving. Faith let the hypnotic dance distract her for a second, and missed her handhold, tumbling off the bars to the floor.

She recovered quickly, rolling to her feet. Buffy watched her, amused, letting the punching bag lie still.

"Lose your balance?" asked Buffy.

Faith gave her a hard look. "I got distracted."

"That's as good as dead," said Buffy. "Every Slayer has a deathwish, you know."

"What?"

"Every Slayer. We deal death out with these hands of ours every day. Every time we put another vampire, another beast of the night, to their eternal slumber, we wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"What it's like. What death is like. All they need is one moment. And then somebody gets a lucky day." Buffy glanced down at her own hands. "Spike taught me that. He knows all about Slayers. Killed two of them, you know."

Faith nodded. "So I heard." She was filled with a burning curiosity. "Tell me about Spike?" she asked Buffy, her voice so quiet Buffy barely heard her.

Buffy shrugged. "We don't know much," she said. "Maybe Angel knows more. He was always bad, though. Bad to the bone." She shivered. "He earned the name William the Bloody before he was turned. Afterwards he was one of the Scourge of Europe—Angelus' brood. After Angelus got a soul Spike and Drusilla wreaked havoc for a hundred years."

"Until he came to Sunnydale. Beat me here," said Faith. "What was he like?"

Buffy shivered, remembering. "I remember that he was so arrogant, so confident. The first thing he ever said was that he'd kill me. This Saturday, he said. But then he got bored and ended up coming before Saturday, before his plan was ready." Faith smiled. "We fought, and I dropped an organ on him. Then Angel lost his soul."

Faith winced. "The first time," she said glumly. There was a world of heartache in that simple sentence.

Buffy nodded. "I had thought Spike was the worst vampire I'd ever met. I was wrong. Angelus made him look harmless. Spike was...is...he's evil, but in a random sort of way. Unfocused. He always came after me, tried to kill me. Angelus went after my friends."

Faith swallowed. "Sounds about right."

"Then, one day—Willow was in the hospital. Kendra—the Slayer before you—Drusilla killed her. Everyone else was missing. A cop found me. Had his gun pointed at me. They thought I killed Kendra, you see. And I thought I was done for. It was all over. Angelus had won. I was going to jail. And then, suddenly, Spike was there. Knocked the cop out—was going to kill him till I stopped him. Offered to help me take Angelus down in exchange for safe passage for himself and Drusilla."

Faith nodded, fascinated with the tale. "Because Angelus had taken his woman."

"Then Drusilla left him, and he came to Sunnydale. He always came back. Year after year, he kept coming back, till the Initiative got him, put a chip in his head." Faith smiled at a private thought at that point.

"And that's the story of Spike," said Faith with a sigh. She knew there was more, but didn't want Buffy to go on. She knew what came next. The vampire who fell in love with the Slayer.

The vampire who would never love the other Slayer.

She could tell from Buffy's gaze that the other Slayer understood all too well. But Buffy didn't say anything. They knew each other too well for that. Instead Buffy went back to the punching bag.

Faith climbed back on top of the parallel bars, swinging herself around.

* * *

The two Slayers walked into Willy's place together, and the place immediately went quiet. Even though both Slayers had only recently returned, they both had very big reputations.

"Slayers," said Willy nervously. "What can I do for you?"

Faith leaned into the bar. "First, give me a shot. Next, tell me what's up."

Willy poured nervously. "Well, uh, there's not much. Quiet town, Sunnydale, and—"

Buffy didn't wait for him to finish pouring. She grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head against the counter. He coughed and spluttered, trying to wriggle out of her grasp, but she held on. The bottle fell out of his hands, forgotten, and smashed on the floor.

"The lady asked you a question," said Buffy. "What's up, eh?"

"There's a wizard!" said the bartender. "He's selling magic—just simple stuff, you know. Fireballs on command, staffs that can turn your opponent into a toad."

Buffy let go of Willy. "How do we find him?"

He fidgeted. Faith leaned closer. He leaned away from her, surprised.

"Finish pouring," she said.

He nodded, grabbing a new bottle. As he poured he swallowed. Faith grabbed the cup, slamming the drink back quickly. "Now, where?" she asked Willy.

"An apartment on the corner of main street—the old Miller building! That's all, I swear!"

Faith's eyes flashed. "Thanks, Willy," she said, pushing the glass back at him. "Put it on my tab."

The two Slayers turned and walked away, leaving the bar a quieter place. As the joint began to relax a tall figure in black robes with a clerical collar around his neck walked in. Willy stared at him.

"Oh, no," muttered Willy.

* * *

Gissard was reading a book when Faith kicked his door open. He looked up at her in surprise. She strode into his apartment, grabbing the book and throwing it away.

"What the devil?" he managed to ask before she punched him, her fist slamming into his face and sending him crashing into the wall behind him, spilling him out of the easy chair he was sitting in. The chair spun away, landing on its side with a crash. He landed on his face, gasping in pain.

Buffy entered behind Faith. "Hi, Gissard," she said cheerfully.

Faith grasped him by the back of the neck, picking him up easily. "We hear you've been selling magic to demons."

Buffy grabbed his collar, holding him still. "And we can't help but wonder just why you're doing that."

"Oh, for crying out loud!" he said, astonished. "You're the one who told me to pull my own weight!"

Buffy pushed him backwards just as Faith let go of him. He staggered back, barely holding onto his balance.

"I didn't mean you should start putting weapons in the hands of our enemies!" growled Faith. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever seen!"

"They're not that powerful!" protested Gissard. "What else do you expect me to do? I've hardly been trained for any profession besides that of wizard!"

Buffy shook her head. "Gee, I don't know. Ask Giles for a job or something!"

"We're working at a fast food joint!" growled Faith. "I mean, we're sacrificing to make this work. Working our brains out every day. What do you do? Sell spells. To demons!"

"They're not all demons!" protested Gissard. "And most of the spells are rather limited. One time use. And my prices are outrageous!"

"And you were planning to tell us when some goober started shooting fireballs at us?" demanded Buffy.

"This is pretty serious, you know," said Faith. "I'm about ready to give him the sack."

Buffy nodded. "I would," she said. "Want to hit him again?"

Faith considered it. Gissard tensed up in anticipation. "I guess not," she said sullenly. "But now I want to hit _something_."

"Well, let's go, then," said Buffy. "We'll drop by later to deliver your final verdict."

Faith glared at Gissard. "Just remember, you only get one second chance."

As they left Gissard recovered his book, rubbing blood off his chin where he'd scraped it on the floor.

* * *

Spike gasped in pain as he set his arm. As the shattered bones came back together he let out a moan, sagging down.

Angelus, who had been awake for a while now, smirked at him. "Oh, that's good, me boy," he mocked. "I don't know how they can resist you much longer."

The demon still hadn't returned with his final task, noted Spike, taking stock. He was healing up slowly, even without blood, but knew another physical challenge was still far beyond him.

The demon returned them, glowering down at Spike. "It is time for your final test," said the demon.

Spike smirked, covering up the fear eating away at him. His right arm was still useless, and would be until he got some good blood into him. "Well, let's do it," he said.

"First, we'll need to get rid of that silicone conscience of yours," said the demon, waving his hand. Spike felt a white-hot pain in his head, and gasped. It tore into his skull, and he could smell something burning.

"Now," said the demon. "The rules of the game are very simple." He waved a hand and a young girl materialized beside Spike. "If you feed on the girl, you'll have proven that you don't truly desire a soul more than anything else."

"More than blood," whispered Angelus. He smirked. "Think you can take that, boy?"

The demon waved his hand at Angelus, and a gag appeared in his mouth. "No interference," he said, sensing that Angelus' words were only goading Spike into doing just what the other vampire didn't think he could do.

As the demon departed, Spike felt his stomach lurch with hunger. He could smell the sweet blood in the girl, and it intoxicated him.

Slowly he leaned back, trying to relax. The demon hadn't said how long this test would last. He needed to be easy about it. Just ignore the warm blood, and focus on Buffy.

The girl moved uneasily, not understanding. She was a girl from one of the neighboring tribes, with ebony skin and dark eyes. In the unlit caves, she was having trouble seeing. She let out a musical string of words in her own language—words Spike couldn't understand.

"Just shut up, love," he grumbled. His stomach fairly burned with hunger now—as much as the rest of his body burned with pain. The burns all over his torso from that git with the flaming hands needed time to heal—and maybe some ointment to dull the pain.

And all he could see was the girl's neck. He could see the faint pulse of jugular, warm blood rushing through the girl's body.

He tried to stifle the hunger. This was the final test, wasn't it? After this, he was all done.

"You speak English?" Her voice was heavily accented, but he could understand it.

"Yeah. Shut up." He had no energy to deal with this, and she was just calling his attention to her all-too-vital body, filled with warm, flowing blood. Hot, sweet blood

Couldn't she just shut up? He tried to concentrate on Buffy.

But that led to thoughts of Faith. And Faith's warm, sweet blood, so intoxicating. The rush was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

"Please, help me," she said. She was trying to move closer to him.

"Don't come any closer!" Stupid kid. Didn't she know what lurked in dark caverns? He wanted to go into game face, to show her the dangers, but he knew that would just excite him. The smells would be sharper—the needs would be darker.

And those idiots back home had accused him of not knowing how to be bad any more—ha! He'd tried to so hard to be good. He'd tried until he felt like crying tears of blood. Which would have been a waste of blood, and he shouldn't be thinking about blood at a time like this.

"Please, a monster, it grabbed me," babbled the girl.

Didn't she realize how close she was to becoming supper? "Shut up!" he snarled. "Stay quiet, and don't move. Maybe we'll both live the night out that way."

Now she was scared, afraid that there was something else in the cave with them. Something dangerous. And there was, wasn't there? The smell of her fear was sweet, and he could feel himself getting lightheaded. The room seemed to be swimming, and the taste of her blood was already in his mouth.

He tried so hard to be good, but it was so hard. Being good only ever got him beat up. Being good meant he couldn't have the blood he needed so badly.

"Sir, please," whispered the girl. She was shivering, and edging closer to him.

"Stay back!" he hissed. She was close enough now that he could hear her heart beating, a wonderful, awful sound that filled him with lust. He started to reach for her, his left arm scrabbling forward, before he realized what he was doing and pulled the hand back.

This was a stupid test. What did it prove, anyway? Only that he had self control.

He didn't have self control. He felt a stab of pain in his right arm as he tried to get up to grab her, and forced himself away from her. "Get back! Get away!" he snarled. She stayed where she was, frozen, and then he couldn't help it any more. He felt his face change, and suddenly he could see her as clearly as if daylight had entered the cave.

His glowing yellow eyes alerted her, and she gasped, scrambling backwards. The scent grew a little fainter, and he backed away from her.

Angelus' eyes went sharply amber at the same time. He glanced at the other vampire, who was also hungry, and snarled at him.

Now the smell of fear flooded the cave, and Spike wanted the blood more than ever.

Why wasn't he drinking the blood? Buffy. He tried to remember Buffy's face as he had last seen it.

All he could think about was Buffy's blood.

He groaned, smashing his hands against his face. A ridged monster's face. That's all he was—a monster. It was nothing but arrogance to think that he could be more.

He staggered to his feet, ignoring the pain, and started for the girl. He was tired of fighting his own nature and only getting disappointment and pain because of it. This was Angel's fight, not his. Let the git fight for his own soul.

And then Spike could feel Angelus' approval. It fairly poured off the elder vampire, feeling like lemon juice in all the wounds Spike was adorned with.

Spike turned, leaping at Angelus, smashing his hands into the prone and bound vampire, slamming blows onto him that would have shattered a weaker being. Angelus moaned under the onslaught, but Spike never let up.

"This is your fault!" screamed Spike, letting all the hatred he felt for the other vampire out. He began using his feet, too, slamming his boots in the helpless vampire.

Then he felt a sharp pain in his back, and lurched forward. The girl, behind him, had a knife out. She had stabbed him in the back. He turned quickly, slapping the knife away before she could do any more damage.

She punched at him, but the blow felt like nothing. It wasn't even a proper blow.

"Oh, for..." He shook his head, forcing his face back to normal. "You call that a punch, love?" He grabbed her arm as she tried again. "You're just trying to hit me, that's all. Not good enough. Your fist stops right here, when it hits me." She stared at him, shocked. "Well, try this, eh? Visualize punching right through me. That's right, try to punch right through me. Come on!"

She swung. The blow wasn't much harder, but it stung, and Spike nodded his approval. "Come on, how'd you get caught? I bet you were out walking in the dark. Didn't your parents ever teach you any better than that? Monsters are real, pet."

"I know," she said. "I was home—safe. And then the monster came in."

Spike shrugged, feeling the bloodlust rising. "Just stay away from the monsters!" he growled.

She backed away from him, recovering her knife as she went, and staring at him. "I'm not so sure you are a monster," she said doubtfully.

He snorted, backing up against the wall. Her blood seemed to fill his senses—the place certainly couldn't become any more blood-drenched if he cut her throat and drank, could it? "I'm a monster, all right. And little girls are my specialty."

The look she gave him was half-covered by the darkness, but he knew it was mostly fear, and somewhat curiosity.

Didn't they know that charm like his was a predator's trick, nothing more? It was just meant to make them feel at ease, so he could get behind them and eat his fill without them noticing. But girls, especially young ones, were always ready to listen to him.

Idiots, all of them.

"How do we get out of here?" she asked fearfully.

"We have to wait for the monster to get back," he replied. "Just sit and wait."

He'd passed the worst of it, he thought. That was when the pain in his stomach sharpened, and he remembered his last meal—a goat, of all things. A foul taste, and not enough blood to be truly filling.

And that just set his mouth to watering in anticipation of his next meal. He liked them young—the taste was unlike anything else. And female, too—that was just in his nature. It was more because females tended to be harmless, and so easily charmed.

And he loved charming harmless things and then killing them. Almost as much as he loved a good fight.

And this line of thought was very clearly not helping. He tried to think about Buffy again. And that only led to thoughts of fighting Buffy—and wondering what she would taste like. She would taste perfect, he was sure, like Faith had tasted.

And he was thinking about blood again. This wasn't going to work—he'd eat her in five seconds at this rate.

He couldn't see any other way out of this. Every minute she was looking more and more appealing.

He turned and lunged at the cave wall, smashing his face into it before he could stop to think about what he was doing. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

When he woke up the demon was there.

He rolled over, groaning. "I didn't eat the girl," he said triumphantly, glancing at the girl, who was asleep. "I want this more than blood! All ready to give it up to me now? Cause I think you owe it to me!"

"Yes," said the demon, obviously angry. He moved closer, raising both hands. "I give you both back...your souls."

He plunged one hand into Spike's chest, and the other into Angelus'.


	26. Soul

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them and letting my imagination roam free.

Summary: AU Season Six. Angel and Faith came back to Sunnydale. When Buffy returned, Angel lost his soul. Spike took Angelus to Africa to fight for a soul for both of them.

Chapter 26: Soul

Spike had thought that getting his soul back the first time was painful. He hadn't understood at all.

He'd thought that removing the spells Wolfram and Hart had placed on his soul to protect him was painful. Again, he hadn't understood anything.

He'd thought that the trials he had gone through were painful. It had just been the most recent lack of understanding.

Now he understood.

Now his entire chest seemed to burn, and his mind seemed to be in two places at once. He could feel William, moving around inside his head. For a minute William seemed to fight him.

'_But I am you,_' he said silently, protesting.

And then he could feel himself again, could feel the pain in his limbs. He groaned, curling up into a ball. The presence in his mind—the one he'd thought of as William—seemed to be part of him, now.

It was weird. He couldn't remember that happening last time.

And why was his chest on fire? Was he burning up? It felt as if the sun had risen in his chest.

"Spike." The voice croaking in his ear was familiar, and he felt a familiar hatred and frustration roll into his mind then. He wasn't sure if it came from Spike or William; nor was he even certain if it mattered. Maybe Angel had the luxury of making that differentiation, but Spike had almost been good—he had certainly been good enough to get a soul.

And maybe Angel had to fight Angelus, but for Spike there was at least a little peace in this moment. A little bit of synergism. A little bit of everything poetic binding him together into one whole that might never be as good as Angel, but certainly could never be as tortured as him.

"Angel," he croaked back.

Then a small hand touched his arm. He could smell the fresh blood inside it, and realized the girl was still there.

"Oh, hell," he moaned. The demon that gave them back their souls could only have left her there for one reason—to torment them.

"I think I found a way out," she said hesitantly.

"It's daylight," protested Angel. Spike opened his eyes in time to see the girl gave the older vampire a skeptical look—last night she had briefly sided with him against Spike, but apparently Spike had won her over with his impromptu lesson in self-defense and his winning ways.

Stupid girl.

"Get him free," grumbled Spike, nodding at the chains holding Angel in place. The girl stared at him, surprised. "Go on, set him free. Get the chains off him. It's the only way we're getting out of here." There was contempt for Angel in his voice, but also resignation. Spike was great at holding grudges, but he was also an expert in what was best for him. Right now, freeing Angel would be the best way to end the torment he was in—one way or the other.

The girl set to on the chains holding Angel, but they were plentiful and tight. Spike hadn't wanted the strong vampire just bursting out of his bonds—that would have been disastrous, and probably fatal for one of the vampires.

The sight of her tugging at the chains with all the vitality and life inside her started Spike's appetite working again. He felt a twinge of regret for not having drained her dry last night, and was surprised.

'_Still a defective soul_,' he noted to himself bitterly. Shouldn't he have been free of this temptation at last, now that he had a soul? But, no, as he'd told everyone who would listen, it was only the possibility of goodness that he had purchased, not actual goodness.

And thank goodness. Wouldn't it have been horrible, to become Angel? Still, he had to work hard not to jump her now and start eating.

Several minutes of torture later she managed to get one end of chain free. Angel did the rest of the work himself. One weakness in the chain enabled him to snap it and tear it open, freeing himself. As he pulled the chains off himself the girl backed away quickly.

Angel winced, stretching. Several of his limbs gave audible creaks at the movement. "You did a pretty thorough job on me last night."

"Shut it!" growled Spike. Here he was going through some of the worst torture of his life, and they couldn't even have the decency to let him suffer in peace.

Angel stalked off into the shadows, returning a moment later with a handful of rocks, a thoughtful look on his face. "Take a look at this," he said, spilling them out in front of Spike's face.

Spike squinted at the rocks. He didn't immediately recognize them, and he really couldn't make himself care about the rocks. He glanced back up at Angel flatly. "What?" He could barely disguise his hostility.

Angel looked disappointed. "It's crushed dragonstone."

Spike blinked, recognizing the rocks then. He rolled over, managing to rise to his knees. "Inn't that the sort of thing..." He trailed off, not even bothering to finish his sentence. "You're planning something heroic."

Angel nodded, unperturbed. "The creation of dragonstone requires human sacrifice. I can't let that sort of thing go on."

Spike groaned. "You're no fun at all, you know that? Clem has ... food." He glanced at the girl, who was staring. "He's outside the cave. We can send her out."

"Won't Clem...scare her?" asked Angel, glancing at the girl. She gave him a flat look, not at all appreciative of his tone of voice. "I mean, he's not--you've gotta understand--prepared... uh, Clem is...different."

"I'll be fine," she snorted, heading for the door.

When she returned she looked shaken, and handed them two clear bags of blood each. She wiped her hands on her pants after they took the blood, staring at them.

Spike bit into the first bag, sucking the cold, disgusting pig's blood out of it without stopping for air. He gasped and choked when he done, grimacing and tossing the foul-smelling bag away. Angel gave his the same treatment, glowering at the girl as she gasped.

"Sorry," muttered Angel, embarrassed.

"For what?" snapped Spike, biting into the second bag and giving it the same treatment. Angel reluctantly followed suit, knowing they'd both need the strength.

"Why shouldn't I be sorry for displaying my monstrous side in front of her?" he asked petulantly. His face morphed back to the human visage, hiding his demonic face. "You may take pride in it, but I don't."

Spike shrugged, glaring at the girl. "Best you go wait by the car with Clem," he said to the girl. She paled slightly, apparently not enthralled by the idea. "If the great forehead wants to do something stupid and heroic, best we get to it."

As the girl retreated without protest, Spike stretched, feeling muscles that had been exhausted flare to life with pain as blood rushed into them. "Aah!" he moaned. "What makes you think we can do this, anyway? I fought all night, and for all I know he could have pulled more minions out of the walls without even breaking a sweat!" Spike was trying to cover, but he was feeling very weak, and completely unable to help in this.

"Champions don't do what they do because it's possible," said Angel. "They do it because it needs to be done. Grateful as I am for my soul, this demon is evil, and needs to be put down like a dog."

Spike moaned, throwing his head back. "You great mountain of goodness," he said with a sneer. "He'll turn us into a little pile of ash. Probably get my ashes all mixed up with your ashes, too."

Angel gave Spike a skeptical look. "You're giving up because this sounds too hard?"

Spike growled, standing up. "No," he said, tottering weakly on his feet. "But this may be the last chance I ever have to be right—I'd like to take advantage of it."

Angel gave him a blank look. "You do that." He turned around, facing the deeper, darker shadows of the cave. "All right, Lurky!"

"Lurky?" muttered Spike. "As usual, you amaze me."

"Glad to be of service. Come on out!"

The demon appeared suddenly, gliding forward out of the blackness. "Yes?"

"You've been preying on the local humans," said Angel. "Killing them. Using them."

The demon raised an eyebrow. "Coming from a vampire, that is possibly the silliest thing I've ever heard."

"Now it's time to pay the piper," said Spike, eager to get in on the pre-fight banter.

Angel started forward, raising his arms.

Later, all Spike would remember of the fight was the first three hits. First the demon had hit Angel, sending him backwards. Then Spike had darted in, hitting the demon, who seemed unfazed. Then the demon had hit Spike in the face. After that everything was just a dark blur.

When he finally woke up he could see signs of heroism all over the cave. Dead demons, broken weapons, even scorch marks up and down one cave wall.

Angel was leaning against one wall, shirtless. His pants were tattered, and there were bloody wounds all over him. "About time you woke up."

Spike blinked, rubbing his head. "You certainly were busy."

Angel shrugged. "The demon's dead. That's what matters."

Spike groaned. "And the fact that you can now run out there without a shirt and proclaim how heroic you were to an impressionable and seducible young girl had nothing to do with it. Right."

Angel glowered. "Just keep your opinions to yourself."

Spike scrambled to his feet. "Or what?" he asked angrily.

"Or I'll tell Buffy you said that," said Angel smugly. Spike glowered at him. "Now, come help me out of here. I think the sun is down, but he broke my leg."

Spike managed to limp to Angel, offering him a hand. Angel managed to lean against him, and they tottered for the exit. Spike sniffed the air, his eyes dancing through the cave.

"Awfully heroic of you." He couldn't help sniping at Angel, harping at his weak spots, any more than he could help his addiction to blood and violence.

"Thanks," said Angel, ignoring Spike's contempt.

Spike tuned out the taller vampire, trying to minimize the irritation going through him. As they went through the cave exit he concentrated on remembering what it had felt like to beat a prone Angelus with his bare hands, and a smile crept onto his face.

Angel ignored the inevitable smile as well, staggering forward. He spotted Clem and the car first, noting that the girl was standing behind Clem.

Funny how quickly Clem went from being the scary one to being the safe one, once she'd seen Angel and Spike in action, thought Spike sourly.

But he didn't say anything. Clem was the only reason they'd made it this far—the only reason they'd been able to handle Angelus so well. He owed the wrinkly demon a little common courtesy for that.

Clem watched them stagger out of the shadows into the moonlight with concern. "Did it work?" he asked, keeping his eyes on Angelus. He remembered only too well the kind of violence the vampire was capable of.

"Yeah, he's back to full-on heroing." There was resignation in Spike's voice too. This was not what he had hoped for, really. Not what he had planned. At the same time it had a terrible inevitability to it.

Angel pushed Spike away, tossing him onto the hood of the car. "I'll drive," he said tightly.

* * *

Faith and Buffy were sprawled across Buffy's couch, giggling.

It was such a simple thing, reflected Giles. A joke at his expense by Xander, who had been retreating with Anya. The two Slayers, already weary from Slaying. A joke that tickled their funny bones. A case of the giggles that wouldn't stop.

The two Slayers were barely on the couch now, lolling off it at odd angles. Xander slammed the door behind him, a punctuation mark on a joke that had barely been worth telling, but that still struck the Slayers just right.

The simple happiness on their faces warmed his heart.

He knew that Buffy still woke up in the middle of the night with a muffled scream. Dawn had told him about being woken by it on multiple occasions. And, watching Faith, he could see her glancing over her shoulder occasionally, that haunted look on her face.

But right now they were relaxed, lying on the couch easily, with no glanced over their shoulders and no haunted looks in their eyes.

They had buoyed each other, with their deep and intimate knowledge of what horror, betrayal and heartache felt like. Who else knew what they were going through? Nobody but each other.

Faith glanced up at him, still unable to smother the giggles. Not a knowing chuckle, an honest, innocent giggle. He'd never thought he'd hear such a sound again, not from her, not from Buffy.

He played along with the moment, taking his glasses off and wiping them. He wished he could remember what Xander had said, so he could make an appropriate comment. Since he didn't remember, he settled on simply acting flustered.

He knew that they could probably see right through him. He hoped that right now the laser vision they normally used was relaxed, so that they wouldn't.

"Well, then, I guess I'll just be going," he said, putting his glasses back on.

Dawn approached him, handing him the notebook she'd been scribbling in all evening. "And I'll translate the text you gave me," she said, sounding resigned.

Giles glanced at the Slayers, waiting for them to confirm that they would do what he'd requested. They simply burst into a fresh fit of giggles, so he sighed and retreated to a chorus of 'byes' that should have made the parents of the three girls proud.

If Hank Summers had ever cared enough to come see his girls.

If Joyce Summers were alive.

If either of Faith's parents had cared enough to try to find their daughter.

He sighed. Those three girls had gone through a lot of heartbreak. A lot of pain. Seeing them happy like this was more than he could ever have hoped for.

Dawn watched him go, wondering whether he knew just how much his presence meant to the girls. Every one of them had lost their parents, one way or the other. Every one of them was alone, and pushing through without any help.

He was that help.

She felt herself rebel at the thought, again. Felt that needy teenager within rise up, ready to whine for attention. But then Spike's absence registered again, his betrayal of her.

With a rift that great, she simply settled down on the ratty easy chair, and watched the other two girls. They were still giggling, but there was a slightly frantic edge to the giggles, as if they didn't want to stop. Reluctantly, they did stop, giggles dying away to be replaced by Buffy's soft snores as she drifted off.

Faith picked the other Slayer up gently, as if picking up a tiny baby, and carried her to her room. Watching them go Dawn reflected that the dark Slayer had been a good influence on them all. And perhaps they'd been a good influence on her.

Faith returned, rubbing at the now-smeared makeup around her eyes. It was time to settle in for the night, but she looked like she was going somewhere. Curiosity, not fear, prompted Dawn to sit up and ask where the Slayer was going. It wasn't a question born of fear of Faith, which surprised Dawn a little bit. Did they trust Faith now? So easily?

Not completely. But much more than she thought possible.

Faith looked at Dawn askance, surprised by the question. "I gotta go check something out," she said mysteriously, and flitted out the door.

Dawn's question had caught her off guard. She was going out to look in Spike's crypt—to see if he was back. It was a stupid thing to do, she knew. Perhaps even morbid. Something Buffy wouldn't do with her. Maybe something Dawn would like to do.

But she wanted to do it alone. With Spike, if she went with Buffy or Dawn, he would go to them first, think of them first—love them as he didn't love her.

So when and if he came back, she wanted to meet him alone, so that he had no choice but to look to her first. She didn't want their first meeting to break her heart before she could even look at him.

She knew if he ever did come back that it would be a grand entrance, and a fantastic attempt to gain Buffy's love. She would be forgotten, yesterday's conquest. But try as she might, she couldn't get him out of her head.

She couldn't help loving him.

Just the thought sent her into a fresh fit of giggles. Faith. In love. The two seemed almost contradictory. She wasn't about love. She was about sex, and violence, and shallowness. A quick fling, something degrading, maybe even kinky. And then off to the next conquest.

Strange how easily this one had defeated her, with his sarcasm and his vulnerable heart. It was almost sickening.

She entered his crypt silently. She could already tell that there was nothing there. It was cold, dead, and empty. Given that it was Spike's crypt, that shouldn't have surprised her.

She sat down on his bed, wondering if he was still alive. Given that he'd gone off with Angelus, the odds were actually pretty good that he was alive and had gone back to evil—an unwelcome thought, but one that kept intruding on her.

She lay down, spreading her arms out across the bed. On this bed she'd discovered joy, and Spike. On this bed he'd broken her heart, shattered the few remaining defenses she had against him.

And what if he and Angelus came back? Two evil, unsouled vampires? That would destroy her. She couldn't stake Angelus. She couldn't ever stake Spike. It would all be on Buffy, then, to do the right thing.

And Faith wanted to scream at the thought. She knew all too well how much that would destroy Buffy. She wouldn't wish that on anyone—especially not on Buffy, who'd died and come back.

She climbed off the bed reluctantly and headed back out, back into the life she and Buffy had carefully built, back into the normal and everyday life of a Vampire Slayer.

* * *

The car rumbled down the road quickly, rattling over bump after bump. Spike, in the back seat beside the girl, grumbled under his breath about Angel's driving skills.

"I heard that!" snapped Angel.

The girl, beside Spike, winced. Whether from the bumpy ride or from the tension in the car, Spike neither knew nor cared. He growled, bracing his hands under his hips.

"Where's your home?" Angel asked the girl as they began approaching a town.

"There." She pointed toward a slightly larger house than the others, practically a mansion beside the rest of the huts gathered around it. Spike wondered if it was as large as Buffy's house, and decided it wasn't.

"What's your name?" Clem asked the girl. He was apparently uncomfortable with the silent way Spike and Angel were treating the girl, but neither vampire could be bothered with mundane details like that.

"Joey," she said. "Josephine, actually, but nobody calls me that." She was watching the three monsters warily, remembering all that she'd seen.

Spike glared at her. "Are you going to invite us in?" he demanded.

She turned to him. "Should I?" she asked archly. He sputtered for a moment, glaring at her.

"No," answered Angel. "We're friendly enough monsters—the friendly ghosts of the world we live in—but you shouldn't get too friendly with monsters."

"Yeah," muttered Spike. "Never know when that'll come back and bite you in the ... neck." He glared at the girl, his stomach growling.

"Cool it, Spike," instructed Angel brusquely. "We'll find a butcher or some animals in the town. We'll drop her off here."

"Ooh, big hero," said Spike in a sarcastic falsetto. His hunger brought out the worst of his hatred. Denying his impulses felt like the worst of betrayals--almost as bad as Buffy giving herself to Angel the minute she got back.

The girl hesitated as Angel ground to a halt in front of her darkened house. "My father will want to meet the men who rescued me," she said reluctantly.

"No, he won't," said Angel.

"Sure he will!" said Spike. "And maybe reward them. A goat, the odd pig..."

"No," replied Angel. "We're not going to take advantage of these people, Spike."

"Take advantage of them? We saved their daughter!"

"She was only in danger because of us. Goodbye, Joey."

She hesitated. "We have goats," she said finally. "Out back. If you need the blood, you can have one or two."

Angel sighed, putting the car into park and shutting it off. "All right. Spike, I want you to be good about this, all right?"

Spike snorted. "In a pig's eye."

"A pig sty? That's where you'll be living if you mess with these people!" snapped Angel. "Clem here eats more conventional foods."

The relief on the girl's face was palpable. "We have food inside—do you need an invitation?"

"No, I don't," Clem replied, grateful esoteric demonic rules didn't apply to him. "Thanks for offering. I'm starved—we haven't even seen a place that'll sell cheese puffs for days!"

* * *

It was a well-known axiom that villains mistreated each other. They did this in order to establish a pecking order--a person simply would not take orders from somebody they thought they might be able to knock down, or push around.

Still, Gissard felt ill-used as the mercenary dressed as a priest forced him to his knees. "Well, well," said the priest quietly and urbanely, his hand like iron holding the wizard in place. "Fancy meeting you here."

Gissard grunted. "The boys said you...they said you were hiring. For a big job."

"That I am, wizard. But aren't you working for the Slayers?" The priest lifted him easily to his feet. "A tool of the Watchers?"

"No!" snapped Gissard. "I'm done with them. They had me—ungh!—trapped against my will!" He was struggling to get the words out through the hand squeezing down on his throat. "I'm not any part of that anymore! Got free!"

The priest dropped him, examining him. "Do you know who I am?" the priest asked curiously.

"I know that costume is nothing more than a front," said Gissard. "But no, I don't know who you are."

The priest smiled. "Welcome to the halls of purgatory, Jean-Luc."

Gissard blinked. "You know my name."

"Of course. I've been doing my research. I've been stealing things—little things, mostly. Ozymandius' spell, that he meant to make himself truly invincible. Lately I've been thinking perhaps I should steal the Slayers' blood. It's good for many things."

"Including immortality. I know the spells you speak of. I can help you, with my magical powers! They may be limited by your perspective, but they are still worth something."

* * *

Angel finished bathing the blood off his face, glancing around the darkened room. One side of the room was in shadows, while the other was bathed in light.

Spike was lying on the floor right next to the light, staring at it.

"That's morbid," muttered Angel.

"I've been in sunlight!" growled Spike. "It's not all that, you know."

Angel sighed. "I wore the Gem too, Spike. It is all that."

Spike shook his head. The door opened, and Joey entered, watching them. "The sun is setting," she said. "Are you both...rested?"

"Yes," said Angel, standing. "Thank you for the ... food. And the roof. It was most kind of you."

She smiled. "It was nothing. You saved my life."

"Only after we endangered it!" said Angel quickly. "I, in particular, did this, and I'm sorry."

Joey shrugged. "I was out walking when he caught me." This admission was in direct opposition to her previous claim that the monster had found her while she was home, in bed.

Spike laughed, sitting up quickly. "I knew it!" Off Angel's displeased look he lay back down, grumbling.

"He was only out hunting a young girl to make Spike feed," said Angel. "Part of his test. Spike would have killed you, if I hadn't been there for him to hit."

"As I recall, it was the wall that did the trick," muttered Spike. The pool of sunlight beside him was gradually stretching towards him as the sun sunk down towards the horizon, although he hadn't noticed. Angel had, and was hoping Spike wouldn't notice till he caught fire.

"Yes. It was a miracle you weren't hurt," said Angel.

"And a miracle I got our souls back, eh?" asked Spike triumphantly. Angel sighed, nodding. "You better remember it, mate."

"Trust me, I do." Angel permitted himself a long-suffering sigh.

Joey giggled. "You've known each other a long time, yes?"

Spike glowered at the girl. "Where's Clem?" he asked. "We'll be pushing off real soon." He really didn't like being reminded of his association with Angel. It just made him feel unclean. Even though he had his own soul, he still wasn't quite over his prejudices against goodness and fighting the good fight.

Even if he'd been fighting that fight himself.

Angel sighed, standing up. "For once Spike is right. We have to get going."

Joey had a disappointed look on her face. "You ever come back, look me up, okay?" she asked. Spike grimaced.

"Yeah, we'll do that. But we're never coming back."

She giggled. "This has been a great adventure."

Spike slid his eyes shut, disgusted that he would have to agree with Angel here. "What? Adventure?! You almost got killed!" he barked. "Stupid bint—don't you realize how close you came to death? Inches! That's how close!" He shook his head, standing up beside Angel just before the pool of sunlight spread over his leg. Angel sighed loudly, noting that the sunlight was already so diffused--almost gone--due to the sunset that it wouldn't have hurt much anyway.

Joey led them to Clem, and they moved silently to the car. Clem again took shotgun, while Angel slid into the driver's seat.

"Ciao!" said Joey happily.

"Stay alive, you idiot!" growled Spike, climbing in. Angel hit the gas and they sped off.

Spike leaned back, putting his feet up on one door, and resting his head on the other, lying across the back seat. "You sure are in a hurry to get back to Sunnydale."

"You remember that priest you got to hold me off while you killed the hellhound that was after Ozymandius?" asked Angel. "He offered Angelus a job killing Slayers, in exchange for a remade Gem of Amara."

Spike coughed, turning back towards the other vampire, letting his feet fall. "Killing Slayers? That bloody ponce!"

"He's gathering power. Every minute we waste here is another minute that we could regret!"

"Turn right," said Spike flatly, not needing to hear whatever arguments Angel had prepared. The very idea of Slayers dying was more than enough to convince him.

"What?"

"There's an airport here somewhere—I saw a plane. We're flying out of here."

"But the sunlight—!" protested Angel. Once they were in the air they would be above the horizon, and back in the sunlight, assuming they got off the ground soon. And transcontinental flights were infamous for passing through sunlight. It was well-known among vampires that boats, while they might take longer, were infinitely safer.

"We'll go as Arabs, then!" said Spike. "Arab women, veiled head to toe! Come on, there's lots of ways to do this. And I'll do all of them. You should have told me sooner!"

"When? While your little bunny-faced kid was listening? She already knew too much. Enough to get hurt, not enough to protect herself."

Spike stewed, glancing to Clem. "You want to come with us, or do you want to bring the car home?"

"I think I'll take the car home," said Clem. "I'm not really a hero."

Spike snorted. "Understatement of the year, really. All right, Angel. Let's go be the heroes, save the little ladies. You know they can do it without us, right?"

"I said it before, William. Being a hero isn't about doing the easy thing, or about thinking about who else could do the job if you don't. It's about doing the job that needs doing. The Slayers have the power, but they don't realize the priest is a threat. We've got to get back there, and we've got to get back there now."


	27. Return from the brink of oblivion

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters herein. Not even the original characters; you need a copyright for that, and I don't have one.

Summary: Spike and Angel have regained their souls in Africa and are returning to Sunnydale, where Faith and Buffy may be in danger.

Chapter 27: Return from the brink of oblivion (and other strange tales)

Faith and Buffy were at work when Gissard approached them.

As he strolled into the Doublemeat Palace he briefly reflected that this was probably the most plebian place he had ever entered. At least most demon dives had a little atmosphere.

This had only the fumes and stench of prepackaged food that probably wasn't really food at all. The bright plastics and colored fabrics only added to the machine-like package that sucked the soul out of the place.

He felt as if he were making the biggest sacrifice of his life just by entering the place. He wasn't actually, of course. The biggest sacrifice was ahead, with the petite girl at the cash register and the blonde behind her, both of whom had fixed him with laser stares a minute ago.

"Gissard," said Faith coldly. "Come by to tell us about your various misdeeds? We're on break." She threw the last sentence at their supervisor, who glowered at them but didn't complain.

As they came out from behind the counter and approached him, Gissard felt a twinge of anticipation. He almost cringed back when they got close enough to hit him, but managed to turn it into a smooth turn towards some empty chairs.

"I come with an olive branch," he said. "And, yes, news that I offered my services to someone eager to kill you." Buffy's face tensed up. "But in this case, it was a ruse."

He spent a moment telling them about the evil that had been rising, the man dressed as a priest who had stolen magic from each opponent they felled. Buffy's face twisted into a scowl, while Faith's face twisted in a grin. Gissard briefly wondered whether she didn't do that just to cover up the more unpleasant emotions she felt.

"And he wants our blood now?" asked Faith. Gissard nodded.

"You offered to help him," noted Buffy. Gissard tensed in anticipation of another blow. "Good. Then you can help arrange an ambush."

Gissard nodded, relieved. Faith watched Gissard. "Going back to playing the little goody-two-shoes Watcher?" she mocked.

"I don't know what you expect me to do," he said sourly. "That's what I do. I make magic and sell it."

Faith rolled her eyes skyward. Gissard leaned back in the chair, pleased that the worst had passed already. "Maybe we expect an effort," said Buffy.

"Your Watcher does the same thing!" protested Gissard.

"That's different!" snapped Buffy. "It's all harmless. Anya vets the place for anything that could be dangerous or world-annihilating."

Gissard wondered if she truly thought that any magic could be harmless, or if it was just a rationalization to protect her Watcher. Either way, he nodded as if he accepted it, all the while cursing it. "All right, then, what do I need to do? Get an assistant to keep me selling only harmless and worthless spells?"

"Something like that," muttered Faith. "That and you should get lost. We have to finish this shift."

Gissard nodded. "Then...we are in accord?"

Buffy made a face. "College words," she warned him.

"All's well that ends well?" he interpreted.

Faith gave another snort, glaring at him. "You think so? You really think a few words makes it all better? A warning of some Big Bad rising? Maybe you should just think about how long Giles has been at this job, and how long you've been."

"Maybe it's not the job for me!" replied Gissard, his temper flaring. "Maybe you're right and I should just shove off for ports unknown!"

She returned his glare flatly, her eyes searing into him. Belatedly he remembered just how bruised his Slayer-for-the-moment was, just how quick she was to find betrayal and fault in others.

He settled back in his chair with a sigh. "My point is, if you really think I'm doing that bad a job, perhaps you really should just start over with another Watcher. I'm hardly the deluxe model, despite my knowledge of magic." He watched her eyes, which were still flat. "Besides, you and I both know that my connection to the Council is thin at best—I was never really a Watcher."

"That's why she wanted you," said Buffy, stepping into the uncomfortable role of peacekeeper. "The only Watchers she's ever known tried to kill her—except Giles, of course."

Gissard smiled. "One bright ray of light among the insanities. When and where do you want the ambush?"

"Saturday," said Faith. "It's our day off. Let's do this in the sunlight."

"That gives me two days to try and counter his magic. I'll talk to Giles and the Wiccans about it."

Buffy smiled. "See, the team thing isn't that hard," she said, getting back up. "We have to go work with stuff pretending to be food now. Stay out of trouble."

It was more a warning than a friendly greeting.

* * *

Angel knew, deep in his gut, that he was being punished for something. If he could only figure out what it was, then he could repent, try to change, maybe do some good deeds against it, and maybe this torture would stop.

Then again, with this magnitude of punishment, he kind of doubted that it would be the sort of bad deed a few good deeds could counteract.

"Come on, you spent a thousand years in a hell dimension," said Spike in a demur falsetto. "This can't be that bad!"

Angel stared at him from underneath the traditional Muslim burka. Everything except his eyes was swaddled in clothing, and a veil fell over them. He was careful to keep his back to any sunlight, but his skin still tingled.

To make it worse, Spike was sitting beside him, in the same getup. Angel just knew that he would never live this down—especially not if Spike managed to find a camera anywhere.

The very thought nearly drove him into a killing frenzy.

And what was up with the teenagers in front of them? Didn't they know better? Why were they flirting with Spike?

And why was Spike flirting back?

In the old days Spike would have been angling for a drink. And this worried Angel, who knew that Spike's silicone conscience was gone, replaced by a real one that hadn't stopped him from biting Faith before—twice.

And Spike certainly didn't seem to be tormented by guilt. Not the way Angel was—and all he'd done this time was drain Buffy a little bit.

And kill one innocent bystander. He winced, slumping over slightly as he remembered that. A man who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and he'd just killed him for food.

This was worse than hell.

Then he heard the pilot announce that they were landing in Brazil soon, and he breathed easier. This, at least, he could deal with. This he could handle.

* * *

In the heat of the moment, as the battle began, there was something white-hot that exploded in Faith's chest, a need, a desire. And when she saw Buffy move at the same time, she knew that the other Slayer felt it too, that urgent imperative, like a million adrenaline rushes. Like drugs to a starving junkie. Like blood to a vampire. A feeling that never grew old, and could never be denied.

Buffy grabbed the blonde vampire by the hair, tossing her aside. "Take the big one!" she yelled.

Faith dove into the battle, her feet spinning out in a series of kicks that forced that large vampire back. Then her arm darted forward, and the largest of the five they were facing exploded into dust.

"Ahh!" screamed the blonde vampire, covering her eyes.

"For pete's sake, it's over, Harm!" snapped Buffy.

Faith glared at Harmony. "What were you doing hanging out with that lot, anyway?" she asked, punching another vampire to the ground and hurling her stake down. He blew away into dust too. The others were already halfway across the dark cemetery, running as fast as they could.

"They said they could protect me from you two!" sniffled Harmony.

"Did you drink any human blood?" asked Faith suspiciously.

"No!" said Harmony, shocked. Or at least acting shocked. It was hard to tell, with her.

Buffy sighed, staring at Harmony. "You know we don't believe you, right?"

Harmony shrugged. "I know. But you can check! Ask...um..." She looked around at the dust that had been the gang of vampires she was hiding with. "I wouldn't do that! Spike and Angel, I'm their minion, and their minions don't drink blood!"

"Their minion?" asked Faith.

Harmony frowned. "Well, it's a little confusing. I was Spike's minion, but then I ratted him out to Angel. And Wolfram and Hart seem kind of mad at me—I don't think they want me to be a secretary any more."

"You were a secretary?" asked Faith. Right now the surprise she felt couldn't be put into words.

"I can type nearly ninety words per minute!" said Harmony. "Those vampire reflexes, you see. I used to be under thirty, but ... um, are you going to stake me?"

Buffy sighed, staring at the vampire that had been bothering them nearly every day since Spike and Angel left. "I hear that you've hurt one single human, and I will dust you so fast that you won't even realize you've been dusted."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!" said Harmony gratefully.

"We shouldn't," said Faith unhappily, as Harmony ran away.

Buffy shrugged. "I know. But just the same—I couldn't stake her."

Faith barked a laugh, trying to hide the welling sympathy she felt within. "Shades of Spike and Angel in her eyes?"

"She's too human. Like them," agreed Buffy. "And besides that, can you imagine what kind of human could actually lose a fight to her? I mean, that would just be pathetic."

Faith thought about it for a minute. "Yeah," she said finally.

Buffy laughed. "You know, that reminds me. I should call Cordelia."

"They used to hang out together?" asked Faith.

"Until Cordelia started dating Xander and got kicked out of Harm's clique, yeah," said Buffy.

Faith frowned. "Hm. Depth. That's unusual, for them."

"Tell me about it," said Buffy, rolling her eyes. "I never would have expected Cordelia to be one of my friends when I came to this school. I mean, come on! Cordelia! Representative of everything I hate."

"And Gucci."

"And Gucci."

"You make friends easily," noted Faith, a bit jealous.

"Maybe. But it's never easy to keep a friend. Not even the nice ones, like Willow. Did I tell you about the time Spike nearly split the Scoobies apart?"

"He what?" Faith had to stop being so surprised at every story Buffy told.

"He played on our fears, on our insecurities. I mean, he was fairly brilliant about it. Back when he was bad. Then, when we killed the bad guy, he saved Giles, Xander and Willow—just so that we wouldn't stake him."

Faith grinned. "What a prince." Only the insult wasn't really; even if it had been selfish, she couldn't blame him. After all, she had done the same thing, attacking the Scoobies, trying to pry them apart.

"Yeah." And Buffy agreed too now, at least a little.

* * *

"Buffy," said Spike. The word jerked Angel out of a deep sleep.

"What?" said Angel, annoyed that Spike had woken him up.

"I think I can remember her phone number," said Spike. "We can call her, and get her to come pick us up."

Angel peeked out of the tarp they were lying under. "I don't see a phone anywhere," he said dubiously. Spike wilted, lying back down.

"Bugger."

"Just get some sleep!" snapped Angel, rearranging his coat over his head to keep the sun off.

"I can't sleep. I wanna kill something."

Angel sighed. "Just lie there and let me sleep, then!"

Spike grumbled, rolling over restlessly. Things were quiet for a second.

"You still awake, Angel?"

Angel sighed. "No."

"Do you thing—I mean, she couldn't have found somebody new. We've only been gone a few weeks! I mean...maybe two months. Tops."

"She could have found somebody," said Angel grimly.

"Bugger! But my chip is out. I could kill the ponce, couldn't I?"

Angel sighed. "Just go to sleep!" He wished he had a stake on him.

* * *

Evil came in many forms. Pert and attractive was one of them, and Gissard had to admit he could easily see how any number of men would have been lured away by Faith in her evil days. The more common form was old and worn down by many centuries, and that was a considerably harder look to sell.

Of course, that look usually came with outrageous wealth and some pert and attractive accessories.

This old mansion, which Angel had lived in, was not any of those things. And the priest wasn't either. He was cold-blooded and mercenary, things Gissard could respect, but he also had aspirations that Gissard was beginning to appreciate were much older than this little dalliance in Sunnydale.

Gissard stood behind the priest, reading the large volume that the priest had given him. "So," said Gissard. "You said before you knew Angel, but you didn't say how." Because if he knew Angel, if that was his link into Sunnydale, that might meant something.

"Not Angel. Angelus," said the priest. "A long, long time ago."

"So you're not quite human, are you?" asked Gissard, probing a little deeper.

"Not quite," said the priest, glancing at Gissard with a look that was either searing or bored. It was hard to tell the difference. "Have you found a way to bind the Slayers yet?"

Gissard had just passed over two spells that would be quite sufficient. "The Slayer powers, although primitive, are proving quite hard to bind," said Gissard, lying smoothly. He had lots of practice. "It's as if the Slayer has her own built in magic resistance." True enough, but magical resistance wasn't invulnerability to it.

The priest grunted, nodding. "Naturally. They wouldn't want their best weapon felled easily by a magic user."

Gissard nodded thoughtfully. "That gives me an idea," he said.

The front door blew off the hinges, smashing into the opposite wall with a deafening bang. Gissard ducked down low, holding the book. "Eep," he said, trying to keep his equilibrium.

It was so very hard to remember, watching those twig-like girls, that they could do things like that.

The priest whipped out a large battleaxe shaped like a crucifix. "I warn you, the power flowing through my veins will not be easy to stop!" It was standard pre-fight banter, the sort of thing a villain from a comic book ought to say. At the same time he was edging towards the window, getting ready for something else.

Gissard formed his hand into a fist quickly. A black lightning bolt, sucking the light out of the room, shot between his hand and the priest, sending the priest sprawling to the ground, his robes billowing and his battle-axe clattering off into the corner. "That'll take some of that power out of his veins!" whooped Gissard triumphantly.

The priest rolled to his feet. "Had I not expected such a betrayal and erected shields of my own, perhaps." He waved a hand at the Slayers, who staggered back. Gissard's jaw dropped.

"The binding spells! You knew already."

"It was a test, lackwit!" replied the priest. "One you failed abysmally." With a twist of his hand the axe flew back into his hand, and he whirled it in a tight circle. "Really, did you think I would trust an associate of the Slayer so readily? Now, with the Slayer half of them suppressed, the human half should be easy to –mmph!"

Buffy's sword was stuck through his leg, thrown by an arm no longer gifted with Slayer strength, but still thrown accurately enough to throw him off balance. Faith attacked, whirling her sword at him, smashing the blade into his hastily thrown up defense, knocking him backwards with the sheer ferocity and violence of her attack.

"You probably never heard of the Cruciacious, um, tiem, thingy," said Faith. "But just so you know, our own Watchers take away our powers. Regularly. Just for kicks." She moved forward, her sword still moving.

Buffy, in the meantime, had recovered a spear. "And trust me when we say, the fact that we're still alive is a lot more of a testimony to how dangerous we are without our powers than anything you can throw at us."

Their swift attacks drove him back, and Gissard quickly formulated a new spell. "Stand back!" he called out, and the Slayers let up. He quickly flung a fireball at the priest, one that struck him in the head. It dissipated quickly, but the priest only grinned.

"Now, that wasn't nice at all," he said. He waved a hand at Gissard, letting loose a dozen tendrils of snaking energy that raced at Gissard, burying themselves in his chest. He let out a cry, falling down.

The battleaxe began to move in his hands. It smashed the spear out of Buffy's hands, even though she could already feel her Slayer strength returning.

But there was a split-second opening when he attacked Buffy, and Faith took it, slashing at the priest with her sword while his battleaxe was pointed at Buffy. The blow sent him stumbling, but left Faith with her mouth gaping open.

The edge of the sword hadn't even been able to break his skin.

He whirled back, his axe already in motion. She blocked, and the axe sheared right through her sword, cutting it in half with a screech like a cat dying. Faith was thrown backwards by the impact.

Buffy kicked forward, knocking the priest off his feet. "Go!" she yelled, running towards Gissard. Faith joined her, and the two tiny girls easily hoisted him between them. They started running, glancing back at the priest to make sure he wasn't following.

After they'd run a while they slowed down. "As ambushes go, that was a total bust!" growled Faith. "And he was able to bind our Slayer strength—I didn't even know you could do that with magic!"

"It only lasted a few minutes," said Buffy. "Giles or Gissard should be able to find a way to speed that cycle up, surprise him next time he tries that."

"But I hit him—a nice solid hit—and it didn't even break the skin!" said Faith, upset. "I mean, I swung the sword hard enough to cut him in half, and it did nothing!"

"T-Tapping," moaned Gissard.

"What? Is he on some kind of TV show concussion kick?" asked Faith suspiciously.

"He stole a tapping spell...from Ozymandius," groaned Gissard. "It gives him...powers to match your own."

Faith snorted. "Some Watcher you turned out to be." She glanced around the darkening shadows. "You okay to get back to your place?"

"Y-yes. In a moment," said Gissard.

"Good. We have Slaying duties to tend to," said Faith.

* * *

It really shouldn't have surprised Dawn the way it did. After all, she knew that Spike had no soul any more, and she expected him to try and lose the chip. And she knew Angel's soul was gone.

Still, when she heard the knock at the door she thought it was Xander.

When she opened it and saw the two vampires standing there she really couldn't have been expected to do anything except what she did.

"Aah!" she screamed, grabbing the cross hanging from her neck and brandishing it at them. "Get back!"

"Bloody—! Ow!" said Spike, staggering back. Angel brushed the cross out of her hand, since she had stuck out past the protective barrier. He made a mental note to advise her on how to effectively drive back a vampire from behind your protective field; if he had grabbed her wrist he could have pulled her out of the house.

"Hi, Dawnie," he said affectionately. "It's good to see you too." He tried to step forward, but he had been uninvited. "Could you let me in?"

"Um, no!" said Dawn, shocked, stepping back, aware that her first move had been a little rash, and unwilling to make any more mistakes.

"Oh, come on, Bit," said Spike, stepping into the house, brushing by her. "Any of my blood still left in the kitchen?"

Dawn's mouth worked in surprise. Angel rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. You uninvited me but you FORGOT to uninvite him? For crying out loud. Could you please let me in, Dawn?"

"No!" she said, louder, looking around for a convenient weapon. Spike returned with his favorite mug, one that had 'bite the chef' written onto the side in pink lipstick. He took a long sip. "Good stuff," he said with a grin. "Like some?" He offered it to Angel, careful to keep the mug inside the barrier Angel couldn't cross.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" said Angel impatiently. "Spike, just tell her!"

"Tell her what?" he asked innocently.

Then he heard the sound of a crossbow action snapping into place.

He whirled, the cup flying away to shatter against the wall. He didn't have time to catch this crossbow bolt, so he settled for putting his arm in front of it, blocking the shot. At the range Dawn had fired at, the bolt shot through his arm and penetrated an inch into his chest.

"OW!" snapped Spike, pulling the bolt out with his other hand and throwing it aside. "Now, friendship or no, I'm gonna tan your hide for that, young lady!"

"Spike!" growled Angel. "Dawn, we have our souls back. Everything's fine." He hesitated, knowing he should prove it, but some perverse part of him hoping that her next attempt at killing Spike would be successful.

"You can't hurt me. The chip's back!" said Dawn triumphantly.

Spike sighed, reaching out and tweaking her nose. "Ow!" she said, grabbing her nose and staring at him.

"The chip is not a problem any more."

Angel sighed. "And that was really the wrong thing to say."

Dawn screamed at the top of her lungs, terrified.

Which brought Faith and Buffy, just finishing their evening patrol, running. They saw Angel standing outside the door, with Spike inside, and immediately leapt into action. They both slammed into Angel, fists flying, sending him flying down to the ground.

Then they tackled Spike, who was turning to face them, surprise on his face.

"Sooouuulll!" he shrieked as they both pulled their arms back to hit him. They hesitated.

"What?" asked Faith, not letting a single muscle in her arm untense. If he was lying she had to beat him down before Buffy did, so they would end up restraining him and not killing him.

"We got our souls back! We're us! That is, he's Angel! Not Angelus!" said Spike, slowly backing away from the Slayers. He grabbed Dawn, moving her in front of him. "Tell em, Dawnie!"

Dawn shrugged uncomfortably at his touch. "That's what they've been saying, but I don't think it's true."

Spike pushed her. "What?" he demanded, affronted. "You think I wouldn't tell you if I came back without a soul, is that it? Oy!" His eyes flashed amber. "That's gratitude for you, it is!" He turned away in frustration. "And you broke my favorite mug!"

Dawn moved closer to the two Slayers. "How do we check?"

"Um. Maybe Giles or Gissard could check," said Faith, glancing back to the unconscious Angel. Who wasn't lying where they'd left him. Her eyes darted around, finding him standing several yards away, looking at her reproachfully.

"Buffy," he said. Buffy turned, surprised. "There are easier ways than that—most demons can smell souls."

"So we'll bring Clem in!" said Dawn. "I mean, he's with you guys, right?"

"We left him in Africa," growled Spike.

Faith glared at him. "What were you doing in Africa?"

"Getting our souls back!"

"His chip's out," said Dawn. She knew it was not a good thing to tell them, that it would make this weirder, the stakes higher, but at the same time it was very important if he was evil again.

Spike rolled his eyes. "That's loyalty for you!" he snapped. "Yeah, lost the chip. Gained a soul, though, thanks a million!"

Buffy and Faith glanced at each other. They both rolled their eyes, and went back to watching the vampires. "I don't suppose you know any demons who can verify this, eh, Buff?" asked Faith.

Buffy shrugged. "Not that many, no. I suppose we could call Angel's people in LA. I heard that they have a demon on board. Maybe he could sense it."

"Okay, we call LA," said Faith. "You two, don't move." She headed for the phone.

Spike sighed. "Can I go get some more blood from the kitchen?"

"No," said Buffy. "You claim to have a soul? Clean up that blood-stain you just made on my wall!"

Spike stared at it, a long-suffering stare. "I think it'll burn off," he said helpfully.

"What?"

"Well, I mixed some scotch in with the blood—just to give it a little kick, mind."

Buffy rolled her eyes, completely exasperated. "Just fix it!" she said crossly. She hadn't really met Spike with a soul, but she'd hoped the most annoying edge of his personality might have faded with it. Given the way he was annoying her now, as completely un-helpful as ever, she really doubted that he had a soul.


	28. The burden of being soulful

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing. Which is a shame, when you consider all the neat plans I have for what could happen post-Angel. I guess I'll just have to write a fic about it.

Summary: Spike and Angel are back from Africa with bright shiny new souls, although nobody believes them. A new evil is rising, one that can apparently stun the Slayer's powers temporarily, and has his own nifty super powers.

Chapter 28: The burden of being soulful (or, what the heck is up with Spike, anyway?)

* * *

Dawn watched Spike closely. He sat quietly, for the most part, although the way he was stirring wheatabix into his blood was disgusting. And he kept shooting dirty glares at Angel.

Angel actually did sit quietly. Except for the talking, which was all aimed at Spike. And was pretty much all sniping.

All in all, they acted nothing at all like two vampires with souls.

"And no, you have to walk inside and freak Dawn out. Great plan, that," said Angel.

Spike shot him a dirty glare, but said nothing. It would have been hard to, with the duct tape around his mouth. He looked like he wanted to tear it off, but the looks that Buffy and Faith were both directing at the two vampires stopped him.

"And then you spilled the blood. Terrific. Although that one wasn't totally your fault. It probably would have spilled if you had let her dust you. But that stain will never come out."

Spike shot him yet another dirty look, this one fractionally more hateful.

It was, Dawn had to admit, just a little freaky. And she wondered why neither of the girls, who were supposed to love these men so much, couldn't tell whether or not they had a soul.

Then again, she considered, Faith had apparently loved Spike before he had a soul, after he'd gained a soul, after he'd lost the soul, after he lost the chip, after he regained the chip, and it was pretty clear to Dawn that Faith just plain didn't care what state Spike was in.

And pretty much the same could be said for Buffy, when you got right down to it.

Smitten, Dawn concluded. The two girls were just smitten with the two vampires. Who both loved Buffy.

Thinking about it, she wondered if she could write a script and try to make a movie about it. It was terrific. Instead of a love triangle it was more of a love...polygon. Dozens of different lines representing love...yes, love polygon. That was the title of the script she would write.

Spike turned towards her, his eyes simmering as he mixed the wheatabix into his blood. He motioned towards his mouth, then back towards the cooling blood.

"No," said Dawn. "You spilled the blood, you forfeited the right to eat it."

Spike stared down at the blood, then finally gave it to Angel grumpily. Angel stared down at it, his eyes narrowing.

"Wheatabix?" he asked, skeptical. He took a sip. "That's not bad," he admitted. "Gives the blood a nice texture." He took another sip. "Not bad at all."

Dawn really wanted to comment on the disgusting nature of the meal, or at least laugh, or something. But it was so surreal to see Spike and Angel getting along at any level at all that she wisely held her tongue.

Giles entered, staring at the tableau. Spike and Angel were sitting side by side on the couch, with Buffy and Faith standing across from them, watching them closely. Dawn stood off to the side, crossbow in hand.

"Oh, dear," he said faintly. Gissard walked in behind him.

"Aah!" said Gissard, recoiling, reaching in his pocket for some weapon. "Angelus!" He stumbled, falling backwards and hitting the wall.

"Relax," said Faith darkly. "We've got it all under control."

Angel eyed her, sipping the blood. "You're looking good. Is everything ... well?"

"Not falling for it," she replied. "You don't have a soul until your demon-boy says you do."

Angel blinked. "That's...completely illogical."

"Keeps us sane, in the face of gibbering madness," quipped Buffy.

"Make her stop," pleaded Angel.

Spike pointed at his mouth, indicating that he couldn't.

"What did they say?" asked Giles. He was watching both vampires with a look that might freeze water in the Caribbean, or boil water in the Arctic.

"They say they both got their souls back. In Africa," said Faith. Her eye shadow, noted Dawn, was on thicker than usual, as if guarding her against prying eyes.

Spike tore the duct tape off his mouth. "Giles! We—" Dawn poked him in the side of the neck with her crossbow, the bolt in it pressing against his skin. "Ow! Oy, Bit, who taught you that?"

"You did."

"I was just going to tell him how we did it!" snapped Spike. "You know, so you'd believe us!"

"Not happening," said Buffy.

"Not happening?" grumbled Spike. "Right. Great."

Giles shook his head. "All right, let's back up. What was that about a demon? Demon-boy?"

"Angel's team includes a demon. He can tell us if they have souls," said Dawn.

Angel looked at his watch. "Any hour now."

"And why is Angel so grouchy?" asked Gissard, sitting down. He was still nervous; his hands were both shaking.

Angel looked up at him, a longsuffering expression on his face. "I have been stuck with Spike for the last month," he said. "It's no picnic, believe me."

Spike glowered at him. "It hasn't exactly been a barrelful of monkeys over here either, you know! Which, actually, they're not that much fun, really...they bite." Off the confused looks aimed at him he merely scowled back at the others. "A lot."

Gissard rubbed his face and glanced to Giles. "So we just watch two potentially hazardous demons until someone shows up to see if they have a soul yet? Bugger."

"Couldn't have said it better myself!" growled Spike. He glanced at Angel. "Trust me, Angelus couldn't have pulled off a docile act for this long, no more than I could have."

"You pulled it off for years," muttered Angel.

"But I wasn't docile!" snapped Spike.

"You're not being docile now, either!" roared Angel, his hands clenching into fists.

"Dear God. Have they been like this the whole time?" asked Giles. Dawn nodded, rolling her eyes. "Would that be proof they have a soul, or proof they don't?"

"Either way," said Gissard, pulling Spike's lighter out of one pocket and a cigar out of the other. He glanced at Spike, putting the cigar in his mouth and moving as if to light it. A sharp noise from Dawn stopped him, the lighter dangling in his hand.

Spike glared at the lighter. "You know, I got that lighter back in the sixties."

"Ah, a memento of your evil days. Being good now, with a soul and all, you won't want it back," said Gissard slyly.

"Actually, I'd consider it a memento of the sixties, see..." argued Spike. "Morally neutral, wasn't it? I mean, free love, right? Dope and Woodstock and—just give me the freaking lighter before I tear your head off, monkey-wizard!" His eyes almost flashed a golden amber, but he managed to keep the demon under control.

Gissard stared at him uncertainly, then tossed the lighter to him. Spike caught the lighter with the ease of familiarity and flipped it open, then closed. And again, with even more speed, the click-clack setting everyone else's teeth on edge.

"What is wrong with you?!" demanded Angel, angrily.

"Duct tape them both," said Faith. Dawn gleefully reached for the duct tape, but Buffy snatched it out of her hand.

"Little sisters with no superpowers do NOT go near dangerous vampires who may not have souls!" she said, just a little too sweetly. That was a rule that she thought was important, one that should set the basis for Dawn's interactions with vampires for years to come.

"Back to the duct tape," sighed Spike. "You know, mate, bugger this. I say we beat the crap out of them, go find the priest and beat the crap out of him, and then go have this demon sniff the souls on us."

"Actually—" Angel started, but Buffy was there with the duct tape and cut him off quickly, gagging him. She then spun around and gagged Spike.

"Should we tie them up?" asked Faith. "I mean, I would enjoy tying them up, but if you want to trust them...?"

Buffy glared at Faith. "This is hard enough as it is. Don't make jokes about it."

"Who was joking?" protested Faith.

* * *

The priest groaned, rubbing his forehead. "I should never have trusted that little weasel Gissard."

"You didn't," replied his minion, a short, fat demon with green horns.

"I trusted him enough not to kill him, which means the Slayers now know my devious plans." The priest thought about it for a moment. "Are they devious? I mean, they're evil, yes, but devious means sneaky, or lying, and I'm not really lying. It's been pretty straightforward. Devious is just hyperbole in this case, isn't it?"

His minion's jaw began to gape open in surprise. The priest noted this and sighed. "That's a me question, not one you have to answer. Don't tax your brains. I'll work that out later. Still, the Slayers. I can handle them, can't I?"

The minion thought about this, rubbing his jaw. "I...uh...I...um..."

"I mean, the spell you gave me to disable them briefly worked okay. That wasn't a problem," he said, eyeing the tall green horns. "I'm sorry, but is that moss? Some sort of fungus? You really do need to work on personal hygiene."

"Spell?" asked the minion hopefully. The priest sighed.

"No, I don't need any new spells now. Thank you, Gristus."

"You're welcome, master. Is the vampire going to be a problem?"

The priest's eyes snapped open. "Angelus changed everything when he returned here," the priest said shortly. "Losing his soul at this time? All the prophecies have gone to hell, and now the time of two Slayers has returned. And Angel didn't recognize me, so I guess I must have changed--well, I mean aside from my skin, which is just obvious."

"How can a demon change?" asked Gristus.

"By embracing humanity," said the priest with a sneer. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Did you see that TV show? Little worms in the back of the neck. That's creepy, you know."

"Tee Vee?" Gristus was confused again.

"Tell me how to kill the Slayers," said the priest.

"Well, they're human. Just, you know. Tear them apart, cut their heads off, shoot them, break their necks, drink their blood."

"It's just a little harder to do that to a Slayer." The sarcasm was lost on the dim demon.

"Well, yeah. That's why you're the Big Bad. Little Bads can't do it. You're bigger, stronger."

"Better?"

"Well, eviler," said Gristus, still confused.

"Okay. Can we start the whole End of Days thing?"

"No."

"Tell me who I need to kill next, then."

"There's a Champion of the Powers That Be."

"How do I find him?"

"He'll come to you."

* * *

One moment things were quiet at the Summers house, the two vampires sitting there gagged and glaring at each other. In the next instant chaos exploded into the room, madness and insanity gibbering behind it.

"Hello, Creepydale!" said Cordelia, flinging open the Summers' door. "We're here!" Behind her Wesley and Gunn came in, stepping back into the corner behind her, keeping their distance so they'd have room to fight if it came to it. Both of them were armed with crossbows, with other weapons at their sides.

"God, don't you ever knock?" asked Faith.

Cordelia stared at Faith. "Ah, Faith. How's redemption working out for you?"

"Peachy," growled Faith. "Better than for your boss, anyway."

Angel made a noise of protest, then ripped the duct tape off his mouth. "Ow! That really hurts!"

Spike ripped his duct tape off. "Big baby!" He tried to hide his wince.

Cordelia stared. "Hey!" she said. "That's Spike!" She took a step back.

"Hi, cheerleader," said Spike happily. "How's business in the big city?"

"He's evil!" said Cordelia, her voice rising, as her hand came up to point at Spike.

"Hey!" he said. "I'm just as souled as the Poofter!"

"Which is sort of the question," said Faith. "Well, where's your demon?"

Lorne, wearing a hat and sunglasses, stepped up behind Cordelia. "Now, don't get any ideas," he said. "Gunn and Wesley both have crossbows. The slightest sign of soullessness, and you are so dead." He looked around. "Where is everybody?"

"Sunglasses off," said Cordelia with a sigh. Lorne took the sunglasses off.

"Oh, there you are," he said sheepishly. "Hi, angelcakes."

"Hi, Lorne," said Angel.

"Go on, already!" snapped Spike. "Take a big whiff of us and tell them we have souls!"

"Not that I'd mind smelling you, but my olfactory organs aren't as unevolved as yours," said Lorne. "I had something a little different in mind."

"What?"

"We have to sing," said Angel.

"Hey, you're not wearing leather pants!" said Cordelia. "Good sign, guys!"

Wesley and Gunn kept their crossbows leveled. "It might be a double-bluff," said Wesley.

"I have to sing? No bloody way," said Spike.

"Hey," said Buffy. "And that would be proof that you DON'T have a soul, and we could stake you."

"I'll sing."

"Great!" said Lorne. "Angel-cakes first." He screwed up his courage. "All right, hit me."

Buffy scoffed. "It can't be that bad," she started to say, when Angel started to sing. 'Mandy.' Badly. As he began to warble the color drained from Buffy's face.

Lorne winced backwards.

"He's evil!" cried Wesley, leaping forward with his crossbow leveled.

"No," said Lorne. "Just tone-deaf."

"Oh," said Wesley, swiveling the crossbow towards Spike, a hint of a smile on his face now that Angel had been exonerated. "Well, sing."

Spike glared at him, then launched into a screaming, yelling angry version of a song. He was capable of better, but he wasn't going to sing anything that even sounded remotely like Manilow now. Lorne grabbed his ears and staggered backwards.

"He's evil, then?" asked Wesley, aiming the crossbow carefully.

"No, and not tone-deaf either. Just an abysmal lack of taste," sighed Lorne.

Spike trailed off, glaring. "Nothing wrong with the classics..."

"My vocal cords are having sympathetic pains," declared Lorne. "No, they both have souls."

"Thank God!" shrieked Cordelia, throwing herself into Angel's arms. "Oh, you don't know how you worried us!" Then she backed off and slapped him in the face. "You slept with Buffy again!" she accused. "You idiot!"

Wesley and Gunn closed the space between them cautiously. "Greetings," said Wesley, looking around the room at the assembled Scoobies, who had been remarkably quiet. "Mr. Giles. Er, this is Charles Gunn, an associate of ours."

"Gunn," specified the black man. "And I'm guessing the blonde chick is Buffy." He turned to Dawn. "I've heard a lot about you."

Dawn gave him her best stare of death, and he winced backwards, recognizing his error immediately. "Or, your hair might be called brown," he said, backing up.

Buffy, who had been standing behind Angel and Spike and out of Gunn's line of vision waved. "I'm Buffy."

"Oh. Hi," said Gunn awkwardly. "And this is Spike. Didn't you try to kill Angel?"

"Pft. Kill Angel? Torture and beatings at best," Spike downplayed the comment quickly.

"That's not how I remember it," muttered Angel.

"Hey, if I'd tried to kill you, you'd be dead!" snapped Spike.

"You want a try?" taunted Angel.

Spike punched him, knocking him to the floor. "Hell, yeah!" he snarled, getting ready to leap at Angel. Faith intervened, grabbing Spike's arm.

"Hey!" said Angel, jumping up. Buffy moved forward, stopping him.

Angel rubbed his bruised face, an angry look on his face. Cordelia sighed, stepping between the two vampires. "Much as I hate to break this up, Angel, we have a job to do. We need to go back to LA. Now."

"No," said Angel.

"No?" said Cordelia suspiciously. "No what?"

"No, there's a Big Bad here we really need to take down," Angel said apologetically. "I mean, a really Big Bad."

"Capable of facing multiple Slayers," said Faith dryly. "And possibly of all sorts of other mayhem." She was watching Spike, still holding his arm. He wasn't even pulling against her grip, but she wasn't about to let go. She kept his arm firmly in her grip, trying to keep the butterflies in her stomach down.

Spike scowled. "So you've met the funny priest dude."

"Yes," said Buffy. "Oddly enough, the one you brought into town. How's that for funny?"

"Clem found him, not me!" protested Spike.

"He came to Sunnydale because I did!" said Angel. "He knew that Angelus would rise if I came back—some sort of prophecy told him."

Spike blinked. "What? You didn't mention that!"

"He claimed to know me," said Angel. "From my days as Angelus."

"But he's just a human!" protested Spike. Then he thought about that for a moment, shaking his head. "No, that's not quite right, is it? He's not just a human. But he fooled Ozzy..."

"What?" asked Angel, turning back to Spike.

"It's your old pal from Ireland, isn't it?" asked Spike cheerfully, grinning widely at Angel. It was a grin that was both mirthless and entirely evil.

"Old pal from..." Angel stared at Spike in shock. "You mean Flint? It can't be! He's...dead."

"So're we," snorted Spike.

Faith glanced to Buffy in surprise, then at the Los Angeles gang, who were clustered by the door. "Is ANYbody following this?" She asked.

Giles and Wesley nodded together. "Flint the Deceiver," said Wesley grimly. "Once an associate of Angelus'."

"Long thought deceased," said Giles. "Of course, being a demon of indeterminate power, that could easily have been exaggerated."

"And Spike thinks this is the guy...why?" asked Buffy.

Spike snorted. "Why d'you think? Cause I killed the blighter, didn't I?"

Angel sighed. "And you won't find that in your history books," he added to Wesley.

"You killed a demon? Why?" asked Wesley, fascinated in spite of himself.

Spike looked away in annoyance, his bleached-blonde locks the only answer Wesley was to receive. "It's his modus operandi," he muttered.

Giles nodded, tapping his hands against the wall lightly. "I see; a fascination with the Church, holy relics, symbols... perverting Church and Council for his own means?"

"What? The Council?" asked Gissard nervously.

"This Flint, he used to be some kind of ally of the Watcher's Council," said Wesley, glancing to Cordelia. "He betrayed them."

"So, we're dealing with some twisted ancient history," said Cordelia. "And you and Giles want to understand it." She glanced to Spike. "And you'll want to just go find it and kill it, I'm guessing."

Spike shook his head. "Naw. Count me out of this fight."

"What?" asked Faith, her hold on his arm jerking tight. "Why?"

Spike grinned and glanced at her. "I killed this Flint once before, see, and now he's back covered in crosses. I bet holy water flows through his veins. If there's anybody that shouldn't be fighting him, it's vampires."

"I'd guess that's why he wears them," said Giles. "Because of his, er, previous demise—just what happened?"

Angel snorted, looking away. "Let's just say they both had short tempers."

Spike grunted. "And, uh, yeah." He glanced to Buffy, then back to Faith.

This wasn't exactly the sort of reunion that Faith had hoped for, but it was much better than some she could have imagined. At least he actually had a soul, and she didn't have to face the specter of fighting him again.

"Wait," said Buffy, upset. "Let me get this straight. Spike PO'd this guy before, so now you're not going to fight him, you're going to run away like a coward?"

Angel nodded. "Um, me too. In fact, we should just go to LA." Buffy turned to look at him, crestfallen.

"I think I ought to go with you," said Spike. "I mean, nothing left for me here, right? And you're sort of family, aren't you? Yeah, the two of us, we should just go."

Faith stared at them both. "Then you're both just running off?" she asked.

"Yeah," said Angel. He turned to Spike, putting a hand on Faith's arm. She let go of Spike, staring at them both with wounded eyes.

"Well, fine," she said. "We'll handle this."

"You guys brought a car?" Angel asked Cordelia.

"Um, yeah, the convertible," she replied. "But there's only...okay, we can make this work."

Angel turned back. "So, I'll see you all around, okay? Bye." He rushed out, pulling Spike behind him.

"Well, that was weird," said Dawn.

Buffy stared. "Why would he...?"

Gissard's eyes narrowed. He didn't know Spike, and he didn't know Angel. But he knew a lie when he heard it.

* * *

"So, we're going back to LA?" asked Cordelia hopefully, sitting between Gunn and Wesley in the back.

Spike, squeezed into the middle of the front seat between Lorne and Angel, shook his head. "Nah."

"Yeah, Cordy, think about it. This is Spike," said Angel. "Spike who plays around in indirect sunlight where no vampire should ever go. Spike who once used a cross to beat a nun to death with. Spike's hardly afraid of holy symbols."

"More afraid of what that bloody demon has in mind for the Slayers," said Spike. "Bring them into it? Not bloody likely."

"Terrific," sighed Cordelia, rolling her eyes. "I assume you have a plan."

"I've got one!" said Spike brightly.

"I've got a better one," said Angel.

"No, mine's better."

"Couldn't be."

"Look, ponce...!"

"Oh, lord," sighed Wesley, sinking into his seat. "I had hoped that part was just an act..."


	29. The Scourge

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. That lovely honor falls to Joss Whedon, who's too busy writing X-Men comic books to make a new TV show...

Summary: It's all AU after season five. Buffy came back from the dead and Angel lost his soul. Spike and Angel have now regained their souls, and come back to Buffy and Faith, who know about the priest, Flint, who has a mysterious past with the boys...

Chapter 29: Scourge

* * *

"I ran through the sunlight," said Spike sullenly. "Regularly. That ought to qualify me to handle mister 'I can hold a cross and you can't.'"

"I exorcised a demon from a child," replied Angel. "Held a cross in my hand while I did it. I really think this is my area of expertise."

"I killed him last time, you know."

The Fang Gang stared in horror as their normally sane boss was reduced to a childish ninny by the presence of the annoying vampire who kept trying to light up, only to be stopped by his lack of cigarettes.

"Oh?" said Angel, amused now. "I seem to recall it a little differently."

_Dublin, Ireland. 1880._

A harsh wind blew through the snow-filled streets. In the darkness of the night the streets were empty, the people of the city having learned their lesson many, many times already this year.

They knew there were monsters roaming the town at night.

William the Bloody, a more or less newly turned vampire, staggered drunk through the streets. He was fighting a losing battle with melancholy, Drusilla being _with_ Angelus at the moment.

A large, scaly demon fell in beside him. "Hey," said Flint. "Got a minute?"

"Got all the time in the world," sneered William. "Certainly time enough to talk to a ponce what sells his services to whatever forces of goodness there are out there! What do you want, Flint?"

Flint's serious frown deepened. "Look, don't think I like Angelus or anything like that. I only invited him back here because of my...deficiencies."

"Because you can't bloody find this Watcher who stole your maps," sneered William. When he felt bad, he lashed out. It was the vampire way, as taught to him by Angelus. "Because you don't have a bloody good sniffer like Angelus does."

"Exactly," said Flint. "I certainly didn't mean to start all this that you're going through."

"You didn't start it," replied William, unable to keep one being angry at Flint for too long in the face of thinking about Angelus some more. "It's been going on a long time."

"Well, why don't you stop it?" asked Flint earnestly.

"I've tried. But he's bigger than me—stronger than me." William chuckled. "Bloody git. Even if I do beat him, it doesn't matter. She wants him, not me." There was real bitterness in his voice. A depth of bitterness that surprised the demon, who didn't expect any complexity from vampires.

Still, he was here to try to turn the vampires against each other, not to commiserate. Flint sighed, rubbing his reptilian face. "Sorry, Willie."

"Don't call me that!" snapped William. "Only Angelus calls me that."

Flint nodded, holding back a smile. Remind the young vampire of where his woman is... check. Remind him of the nickname the elder vampire uses... check. "Have you considered stabbing him in the back?"

"What?" asked William suspiciously.

"I mean, you and I could probably kill him while he wasn't expecting it, and then you could have her to yourself."

William snorted. "Are you asking me to help kill off my Sire? Not bloody likely."

"Isn't that your grand-Sire?" asked Flint uncertainly. "I mean, I'm no expert on vampire lineage, but isn't she...?"

William shrugged. "All one and the same. The answer is no."

Flint frowned. "I didn't think loyalty was your strong suit; especially not to him."

William let the demon come out then, letting the anger flow in a way that he knew would get him killed some day. "If you try to kill Angelus, I'll kill you!"

_Present day._

Faith sat down heavily. "I can't believe they ran out on us!" she said, still staring at the door the two vampires had strode through.

Buffy stared at the door, ignoring everybody else and thinking for a minute. "I don't believe it either," she said finally.

"That's what I just said."

"No, I mean, I don't believe it. I think they lied. Spike plays with sunlight all the time. Angel's never been afraid of crosses and stakes before. They're playing white hat cowboys, and they lied to us. They're not leaving."

Faith thought about that for a moment. "This is because they know the guy," she said. "They remembered him, and they decided to change their course of action." She turned to Giles. "What does that mean?"

He thought about it for a minute. "According to the only record we have of the matter it was Angelus who killed Flint. Spike claims it was him. That may be a clue. If there's some history there between the two we'll need to investigate it."

"Back to the books," sighed Dawn.

"Angel said we wouldn't find it in our history books," said Buffy, picking up a sword. "That means only Spike, Angel, and the priest know. So...we ask our man Flint."

Faith jumped up, heading for the weapon's chest in Buffy's room. "Today feels like an axe day."

"Is it Thursday already?" sighed Buffy, following Faith. "We're probably going to get our butts' kicked."

"Not if we get him talking," said Faith. "Bad guys love to talk. Just get him talking, and we're home free."

Buffy nodded. "Onward and upward!"

_Dublin, 1880_

William huddled in his corner, trying to hide his misery. He wondered whether this was his punishment for hating Darla so much. In her absence, of course something even worse would have to happen.

He hoped she got back soon. Then Angelus would go back to his woman, and Drusilla, cut off from 'daddy,' would have to come back to him.

He hoped.

He was beginning to seriously contemplate Flint's offer of friendship. It would make Drusilla mad, but...

But he hated Angelus that much. He would ally with the devil—no, he would ally with some force of goodness, even, to get rid of him.

William sighed, rubbing his eyes. Nothing was ever that easy...

Angelus staggered into the room. "Ow! Ow! Ow!" he said, shaking his head. "WILLIAM!" He roared.

"What?" snapped William.

"Flint's betrayed us!" roared Angelus, rubbing a cross-shaped burn on his cheek. "Decided that our help doesn't mean that much to him. Well, two can play at that game! Tomorrow night we'll go hunting for him. Now, bring me something to eat!"

William noted many other cuts and burns across Angelus's body, and smirked evilly, quite happy with the result of Flint's 'friendship.' "One Irish maiden, coming right up."

_Present Day_

Buffy and Faith strode up to the house. "Is this is?" asked Faith.

"I think so," said Buffy. She knocked on the door.

It was opened by a short demon with tall green horns. "Oh, hi. Would you come in for tea?"

"Tea?" asked Buffy, surprised.

* * *

Spike and Angel strode into the mansion side by side, staring at the dusty walls and dirty floors. "That's where I started hitting you with the andiron, just when you thought you'd won," said Spike, his voice happy with the memory. Almost gloating.

"Oh, look. That's where I saved the world by going to hell," said Angel.

"Pft. Buffy killed you and sent you there."

"Yeah, but I signaled her with my eyes."

"Right, sure."

For a minute they just stood there, waiting. Waiting for one of them to break down and ask the sidekick question, allowing the other one to act the hero. Neither was willing to do it.

The minutes stretched out. "What's your plan?" Spike asked finally, reluctantly.

"We find him, we kill him," said Angel.

"Oh," said Spike. "Well, it's more detailed than my plan."

"Oh?"

"I didn't include the find him part. Just went right to kill him."

Cordelia wandered in after them. "Um, Angel, can I talk to you a minute?"

"Sure," said Angel, not moving. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Spike, get out."

Spike snorted. "I'm a Champion with a soul, aren't I? And she's the Seer for the Champion with the soul, inn't she? I stay."

"You go."

"Stay," said Spike smugly. "Want to try to throw me out?"

Angel sighed, glancing to Cordelia. "Go ahead, Cordy."

"Just why don't you want Buffy and Faith to help with this Flint?" asked Cordelia crossly. "I mean, yes, we get it, he's big and bad, you two want to protect the Slayers, fine. But you couldn't protect them while fighting side by side with them? We could use the firepower, big guy."

Spike and Angel exchanged a look, and grimaced.

_Dublin, 1880._

For a long moment William just gazed at Drusilla, who was watching Angelus closely. All he wanted in life was that one moment when she would look at him like that. That one moment of being loved as deeply as he loved her. He knew, deep down, that no matter what happened, even if they managed to lose Angelus, he would never get it.

But he longed for it.

William sighed, glancing at Angelus, who was testing the weight of a large axe in his hands. "So, we go kill Flint, right?"

"Right," said Angelus. "Then we get out of Ireland. Maybe go to Paris. Paris is always nice in the winter."

"Maybe Prussia," said William. "I always wanted to go to Prussia."

"Exactly! Now, Drusilla, you wait here, and we'll play a fun new game when we get back. Something with torturing a demon named Flint, all right?"

Drusilla giggled, and William and Angelus made their way out of the house and headed towards Flint's caves. William checked the sword he kept in a scabbard at his side.

"Why are we doing this?" asked William. "Why not just run off and find some new place to stay?"

"And let a challenge go unanswered?" asked Angelus. "No, Willie, there are more important things than safety, sometimes."

"Like honor?" asked William, confused.

"By attacking me he let us know that he thinks we are weak. Nobody can ever be allowed to think us weak. We'll kill them before weakness!"

The words reverberated in William's skull. "Kill them all," he muttered.

Flint stepped out of an alley-way behind them. "Now, this isn't necessary. All I've done has been done in good faith, as per our agreement! Our bargain!"

"Of course it's necessary, laddie," said Angelus. "You betrayed me."

"You betrayed me!" protested Flint. "You know that the Slayer is the most important part of my plan."

"The Slayer?" asked Angelus skeptically.

"You vampires! You found the book I wanted, and didn't give it to me! I know you did!"

William smirked at the tall demon. "Oh, yes, Angelus; did I tell you this one offered to help me do you in? Came to me and offered to turn our little family, our little Scourge, into my little family."

Angelus sighed. "You did that, Flint?"

Flint grunted. "Maybe. But your betrayal runs so much more deep!"

They stopped talking for a moment as Angelus charged, and for a moment William watched, coldly calculating. But then, when Angelus was thrown to the ground, he moved forward, growling.

"What do you care?" asked Flint, spinning a fist in William's direction. "What does it mean to you, Willie?"

"William," corrected the vampire, smirking. There was something lacking in that name, still, but he didn't have time to work it out just now. He drove his sword into the demon's stomach. "Sure, I hate him. But that's family, innit? We hate, we fight, sometimes we even kill; but I'll be damned if I'll let you lay a finger on him!"

Flint punched Spike in the face. "Fool! Yes, fool I call you! Even without that book I am so close--so very close! The powers I have now are incredible--nothing you can imagine!"

Angelus stepped into action, swinging his sword at Flint's head. As the demon ducked Spike reached up, grabbing the sword impaling the scaled demon, and wrenched it sideways and out, nearly tearing Flint in half.

The demon stumbled, falling down, and Angelus struck, lopping off one arm with a powerful blow. The force of his blow drove Angelus down to his knees, facing Flint, and he smirked at him. "Who's incredible, laddie?" he asked, swinging his weapon in a quick arc. It slammed into Flint's throat, but even the force of Angelus' brutal vampiric strength was unable to separate that head from its body; the sword, stuck in his throat, was jerked out of Angelus' hands as the demon fell backwards to the ground.

William yanked his own sword free. "Shouldn't have come to me to try to kill Angelus, mate," he said. "Shouldn't have come to me at all. That was your mistake--the biggest, the worst!"

Angelus hesitated, putting a hand on William's shoulder. "Wait, wait. What're ye saying, Willie?"

William grinned at Angelus, reaching into one oversized pocket and producing a book. "Why did ye think he tried to kill you? I found his book, and was keeping it for myself."

Angelus stared down at the younger vampire, his brain spinning. Then he backhanded William, knocking him to the ground, and kicked his sword away. "You set me up," seethed the older vampire.

"He was plotting against you! He planned to doublecross us!" protested William, trying to get to his feet. Angelus kicked him, laying him out on the ground.

"You don't ever plot against me!" warned Angelus. "Or I will kill you!"

He walked away into the night, leaving his Childe behind with the half-dead demon.

William struggled to his feet. "I can't believe you didn't kill him before," he told the demon, who was trying to get a cross on a chain free of the sword in his neck. "You had one chance. One sodding chance. And you failed!"

Flint gasped. "Could have--if you--could have--"

"Don't give me that," said William, sneering. "You're the one who made the very serious mistakes here--not me. You're the one who thought you could twist me around backwards and use me."

Flint's hand shot out, wrapping around William's wrist as he moved forward to finish the demon off. "I... am... not... like... you!" snarled Flint. "I... I will be... powerful! Rule this world... and any other!"

William jerked free of the large demon, shaking his head. "Think so? I think you don't have much longer left to you to make that happen, mate."

Flint kicked him, knocking him down. "I think you... suffer! You will suffer!" he said, wrenching the sword out of his throat. "For this indignity--for playing my own game against me!" He strode forward, throwing the sword and impaling Spike, pinning him to the ground. William let out a cry of agony, and Flint took his book. "No man can suffer as badly as I'll make you suffer," promised Flint.

Flint stalked off into the night, following Angelus. William felt his heart, which didn't beat at all, go cold.

There was an easy way to make him suffer without killing him. In fact, given how well Flint had tried to use Drusilla to motivate William to attack Angelus, there was only one way to make him suffer, truly suffer.

William frantically strained against the sword, trying to pull it out of the ground below him. With a sucking noise he managed to pull it out of his chest. He was still moving slowly, but he managed to get to his feet, holding the sword tightly, and run down the road, after Flint. He followed his nose.

When he got back to their lair, he burst in the front door, frantic. Angelus was down on the floor, tied up, and Flint was carefully cutting Drusilla while she tried to get free. His knife was deep in her side, and William let out an uncharecteristic roar.

"Up so soon?" asked Flint playfully. "Come on, then, William. Come and save the lady." He plunged the knife deep into her side, making Drusilla cry out in agony. "I think next I'll use this cross to burn some interesting patterns on her face. What do you think? Shall I go with cryptic runes, or just write out 'whore' over and over again?"

William didn't bother closing the distance between them. He knew now that Flint was much stronger and faster than he'd thought before, and could stand up and walk around quite freely after being impaled and having his throat cut. William was already staggering from the unhealed wound in his own chest.

So he threw the sword, a wide overhand arc. It struck Flint in the arm, spinning him around and severing the arm that was holding Drusilla. She burst free of him with a crazed sob, rounding on him and slashing him across the face with her claws. "Naughty demon!" she hissed. "Like all the blood we consume would ever be enough to drench out your sins!"

William ran to Angelus, scrabbling against the chains holding him. Their own chains, he noted bitterly, managing to wrestle the bigger vampire loose.

Flint slapped Drusilla, knocking her to the ground. The cuts across his face were deep, cutting through the dark scales all the way down to bone below. "Once you're all dead, I'll find your other whore and kill her too."

Angelus rose up off the floor slowly, dropping his chains back down. His face transformed into his own demonic visage, becoming fully the monster. "Laddie, you may think ye know us, but ye dinna know who ye're messing with."

Spike wrapped the chains around his forearm, rising slowly, dragging them along with him. "You know, you're not a very inventive type. I think I could get a lot more pain from you than you even realize."

"It's a real artform with us," said Angelus.

They moved in slowly.

* * *

_Present Day_

Faith and Buffy listened to the priest talk while his minion fetched some tea for them. "It's a long-standing feud," said the priest with a sigh. "They tore me into pieces and left me in a greater agony than I thought possible. They burned what was left of my body. In short, they hate me."

"Uh-huh," said Faith skeptically. "And you came here to kill us?"

He shrugged. "It's always been part of my long-term plan to become invincible and take over the world. Angelus set me back several decades, but I did manage to obtain the book, you see. The spells in the book will enable me to use your blood to attain ultimate power."

Buffy shook her head. "You had the book, they killed you, and they, what, left it where you could find it?"

"I didn't bring it with me to the vampires' lair," said the priest. He adjusted his collar. "I threw it aside, to my minion, when I passed him in the street. I thought I could deal fully with the vampires--I hadn't counted on Angelus and William reacting so strongly to my attacking Drusilla. I failed to account for their possessiveness. But I still wasn't so stupid as to walk in there with the book that had been so hard-won."

Faith grinned at him. "Pity. So, you targeted their women, huh? And they kicked your ass."

"Yes," said Flint, making a face. "But then I began carefully resuming my activities."

"After your head was cut off," clarified Buffy.

"Oh, yes. And I was burned. The body of the demon they killed wasn't my original body, of course. I hop from body to body, using it for a while before I get a new one."

"Which is why you want us," said Faith, realizing. "Nor for your spell, but to hop into."

"Exactly," said Flint, nodding. "Of course, if Angelus had realized I was after that kind of power then he would have stopped me. I would be too dangerous with the body of a Slayer—enough to even challenge him."

Faith sighed. "So you were just going to pick one of us, and take our body?"

"Yes. Of course, there are some downsides here. Notably, I'm going to end up getting hit on every time I enter a bar in the future."

"Well, thanks for the tea, anyway," said Buffy, nodding down at their untouched cups. He smiled.

"I didn't even poison or drug your cups; I just ... well, I so rarely get a chance to explain my evil plans. I mean, I've tried intelligent henchmen, but they eventually decide they would enjoy the immortality more than serving you. And, honestly, I don't think there's anything you can do to stop me at this point in the game. The power I've already drawn makes me nigh-invincible. And once I've been able to take one of your bodies, I'll have tapped into the Slayer Wellspring as well, and it won't be NIGH-invincible, if you take my meaning. Anyway, you two seem resigned to your fate."

Buffy snorted. "Angel and Spike definitely weren't running away. They're worried you'll do that whole 'target the women thing.'"

Flint shook his head. "I'm confused, a little bit. They? I know Angelus, of course, but I don't remember ever meeting a vampire named Spike."

"Your old friend William the Bloody took a new name," said Buffy helpfully.

"Ah!" said Flint. "No wonder I never heard more of him. So I suppose we fight now, and I use the spell I stole from Ozymandius after he died to protect myself—as I am now firmly immortal. And you two lose your Slayer powers to that delightful spell I used the other day, and so on. Boring. But, then, it's what we do, isn't it?"

Buffy sighed. "Well, then, I guess tea-time is over... well, actually, we were thinking, new plan." She opened her left hand, which had been clenched into a fist. A fireball burst out of her open palm, streaking at Flint.

When it hit him it shattered into a million pieces, and the priest stared back at her, blinking watery eyes.

"Sorry, dear. Totally invulnerable," he told her. "But that was good, very good. Your wizard Watcher gave it to you?"

"Um, yes," said Buffy, trying to achieve nonchalance. Gissard had assured her it would break his invulnerability, giving them a fighting chance against the monster.

Flint advanced slowly forward, the crucifix-shaped battleaxe suddenly in his hand, moving in a slow sweeping design. "I've worked very hard to get to this point. Very carefully. I closed little chinks in my armor whenever I could find them--did you think I'd leave the front door open? Your wizard doesn't understand a tenth of what I've done!"

Faith rushed towards the door, only to be hurled back by an invisible force. She felt herself being flung backward, and for a second could feel nothing except the oddest feeling of weightlessness.

Then she slammed into the floor with a cry, rolling to a stop in the middle of the room.

"Careful. I've locked the doors from the inside and the outside. Nobody goes in, and only I can go out. You're both trapped here with me."

Buffy attacked him, spinning at him to drive him away from Faith. Her desperate attack forced him backwards, away from the fallen Slayer. She scooped up the axe Faith had grabbed, a weapon in both hand. Then she smashed both weapons into him, aiming for his eyes.

Both weapon's shattered, leaving her without weapons. She stared at the handles still in her hand, amazed. He smiled condescendingly at her.

Then she turned, attacking him with nothing but her hands. He was a little surprised, but still confident he could take her.

He was wrong. Buffy's hands moved in a quick blur, blow after blow raining down on him, and she ducked under the swings he sent at her, dodging and weaving so that he couldn't hit her.

The only effect the blows had was a sharp aching in her knuckles. After one particularly hard attack she felt the bones in her right hand snap, and she fell back with a cry of rage and pain.

Then Faith was there, stepping up and protecting Buffy, continuing the hard rain of blows. She lashed out desperately with a kick, only to feel her leg give an audible crunch. Flint simply stood there, and as she grunted and fell back, limping, he smiled at the two of them.

"You must realize the complete hopelessness of your situation. Surrender now, while you still have time, and I will be merciful. After all, I only need one of you."

"You've got to be kidding me!" growled Buffy, coming up behind him and smashing her left fist into the back of his head as Faith slammed both of her fists into the front of his head. Faith fell back with a cry of pain, her knuckles bleeding.

"There is no hope for you," said Flint. "I pretended to ally myself with goodness many times, only to take what I wanted ultimately. I've allied with evil you could not even comprehend, and taken what I wanted out of it. I allied with Angelus. I allied with Ozymandius. Watchers. Demons. All a means to the end that I searched for—utter and complete domination of this world, and every other world. I will be a God."

"The most boring god ever!" snarled Faith, limping back away from him. Buffy circled him, joining Faith.

"Come, now. Surely at least one of you can see the foolishness of this. I only need one of you—if one of you strikes the other down, I will spare you, and you can be my bride in a new future, a goddess of unlimited power."

Buffy and Faith exchanged a glance. "Yeah, I don't see that happening," said Faith confidently.

"Well, then, I'll just have to kill both of you and re-animate one body with my animus," replied Flint. And if this bothered him at all it was only because it would slightly damage the body he would take eventually, which he had hoped to be completely flawless.

He swung one arm quickly, sending the crucifix-axe whipping through the air, and the girls had to jump out of his way, scattering.

He followed Buffy, flailing at her with the axe, which returned to his hand with a thought. She ducked and dodged out of his way, staying just a few inches in front of the axe, amazed by his speed. The spells he was using were just as good as he claimed.

Then Faith slammed into Flint with a flying kick, her jump sending him sprawling. She landed with a grunt on her bad leg, falling down as it gave out underneath her.

Buffy quickly jumped at Flint, grabbing the battleaxe and swinging it at him. It shattered when it hit him, the entire thing exploding as if contact with him was anathema. The explosion sent hot shards of metal into Buffy's forearm, and she screamed as the shrapnel tore through her arm.

Flint punched her, sending her flying through the air to slam against the wall, which hurled her back at the ground. She landed with a loud crack and was still.

Faith tried to crawl to Buffy, but a foot in the small of her back stopped her. She groaned as Flint kicked her over onto her back, and then set his foot on her neck. She stared up into his reptilian green eyes.

"Not careful enough, not prepared enough," purred the demonic priest. He crossed himself irreverently. "I assure you, what follows next is even more painful." His heel ground against her windpipe. "Believe me, I will enjoy this."

He moved his foot and leaned down, grabbing her by her battered throat. He lifted her easily into the air, holding her off the ground so that she couldn't get any leverage to hit him.

"Goodbye, Slayer," he said. He began to squeeze her throat, cutting off her air, and she tried to thrash free, but she had the sick feeling that her struggling was like the struggling of a limp fish held by a spear, just useless wriggling. She wasn't sure if this was the prelude to him taking her body, or if she was second best again, and he would take Buffy's body. She hoped it was the former; she couldn't stand the idea of somebody else taking Buffy's body the way she had.

There was an explosion above them, and bits of flying glass filled the room. Faith tried to scream, but no sound left her mouth as her flesh was torn. Flint let out a cry, dropping her, and she struggled for breath.

Two dark forms dropped into the room, their eyes a bright shining gold in the twilight of the darkened room.

Faith felt her heart lurch, staring at the long black coats that coated them like cloaks. She could hear the wheezing of her own voice, and tried to move, but somehow couldn't find the strength.

"Oy!" roared the angry, rough Cockney voice she loved so much. "You been messing with our Slayers, Flint?"

"Angelus. William the Bloody. You know, you two have a way of showing up at the oddest times."

"Sorry about that," said Angel acidly. "I guess we need to work on our timing."

"Yes. All right, what do you want? The Slayers are mine, but you can have their blood, if you really want it."

The vampires stalked towards him grimly. "How about your blood?" asked Spike.

Flint frowned. "What the devil—what are you both doing with souls?"

Then they were on him, fists and feet and swords and axes flailing at him, slamming into him, driving him back.

Faith's last thought as she passed out was that Spike and Angel really ought to invest in white chargers. Or maybe white motorcycles.


	30. Happy endings for all

* * *

Disclaimer: The characters portrayed herein do not belong to me.

Summary: Spike and Angel have just come to Faith and Buffy's rescue. But who'll rescue the rescuers?

* * *

Chapter 30: Happy endings for all

The sudden and devastating attack barely fazed Flint. The weapons Spike and Angel had carried to rescue the Slayers were smashed to bits against his skin, which was harder now than it had ever been when he'd had scales.

Spike, however, didn't give up that easily, continuing to slam his fists into Flint until they were bloody, bruised and broken. Angel gave up long before that, seeing that force alone wasn't going to take the day.

While Spike continued his futile assault on the invulnerable Flint Angel quickly went to check on the Slayers. Faith's eyes fluttered open when he leaned over her.

"White chargers," she muttered.

Angel smiled. "I do try," he said, pulling her to her feet. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, fine. Where's B?"

Angel moved quickly to Buffy, who was in worse shape, but still breathing. She didn't come awake, and Angel glanced up at the windows he and Spike had come through. "Ropes!" he yelled.

Long ropes fell through the windows then. "I'll carry Buffy," Angel told Faith. "Follow me."

He scooped Buffy up in his arms, glancing to Spike, who had abandoned his previous tactic and was now trying to bite Flint. Angel winced at the sickening sound of teeth breaking against iron-hard skin, and Spike's roar of pain followed him as he quickly climbed the rope. He could hear Faith behind him, grunting with the exertion.

"Come on, Spike!" yelled Angel.

Spike jumped off Flint, arcing high through the air to the ropes. He grabbed on in each hand and climbed up them quickly, scurrying up to the top.

Gunn and Wesley were waiting at the top. "Aw, man, he did that?" asked Gunn, staring at Spike's bloody hands. Blood dribbled from Spike's mouth. "Is he down?"

"Not even slightly," said Spike, slipping out of game face. "He broke my fangs!" He rubbed his mouth, still angry.

"Let's go," said Angel, still cradling Buffy in his arms. Spike stared at the all-too-cozy tableau, scowling.

"Yeah," said Faith, still a bit dizzy from the beating she had received.

They headed out quickly, jumping across to a nearby roof, heading down a fire escape to the car they'd come in. There were now far too many people, but Angel slid into the back with Buffy held in his lap. Spike slid in beside him, glaring at him, while Wesley and Gunn took the front.

Faith glared at Spike. "Can you push over any further?" ahe asked him.

He shook his head. "Sorry, the great lump here takes up too much room."

Faith slid in on Spike's lap then, moving fast before he could stop her. She pulled the door closed behind her. "Drive!" she said to Gunn, looking back the way they'd come, afraid she'd see the demon behind them any second now. Gunn hit the gas.

* * *

Gristus glanced at the shambles of a room that the Slayers and vampires had left behind them. "Master?" he asked uncertainly. "Is that you, or did you get the Slayer?"

"It's me," said Flint, rubbing his face.

"Did you kill the Champion?" asked Gristus.

"No. I didn't realize I was facing him until too late—and then they managed to escape. Although..." Flint held up an almost complete vampire incisor, the long, sharp cutting tooth that they used to puncture the jugular, torn from the mouth of William the Bloody. "I did get a pretty neat consolation prize."

"You must destroy the Champion!" insisted Gristus nervously.

"No worries," said Flint blithely. "They can't leave town now, can they? They'll come to me again, and I'll kill them at my leisure."

* * *

Faith wrapped an arm around Spike's shoulders, looking at him. He flinched slightly under the scrutiny, and she knew she was too close. But since she was sitting on his lap he really couldn't stop her.

She glanced over at Buffy, who was slowly coming awake. "What—what happened?" asked Buffy groggily, glancing around. She gave a start, thrashing, when she realized she was being held by Angel. His face clouded up at this reaction, but he leaned back, letting her go, which calmed her down immediately.

"We came in and saved you, love," said Spike gently.

Faith shifted, enjoying being this close to the vampire. "He told us the whole story before the fighting started—we already knew he was after a Slayer, why didn't you just say something? 'Hey, this guy likes going after our women and he doesn't fight fair!'"

Spike shrugged. "Seemed like a better idea to face him ourselves," he mumbled.

"How do we beat somebody who's invulnerable?" asked Faith, glancing to Buffy. Buffy shrugged.

"Still working on that," she muttered, staring up at Angel. She leaned against Angel's chest, and Faith heard Spike give a soft snort of anger.

Wesley, in the passenger seat, twisted around. "Perhaps we can find some spell to turn that against him—something to undo him." He glared back at the tableau, Slayers sitting upon vampires, and wondered if it was a portent of the imminent end of the world.

"Better find it quick," muttered Faith. "He didn't go wild with the holy symbols, but he very easily could, next time."

"Next time?" asked Spike. "I could do without that kind of negativity." Faith felt his hands move on her stomach, arms he had thrown around her automatically when she'd sat on his lap, and she felt goosebumps rise on her arms. Her stomach seemed to be thrashing furiously, and she knew her heart had sped up, frenetic beats echoing in her ears.

Wesley frowned, looking into the back seat. "Er, yes," he muttered. Faith ignored him, glancing over her shoulder at Spike's eyes, which were still riveted on Buffy.

Gunn brought the car to a stop, and Angel got out with Buffy. "It's nearly daylight," noted Angel, glancing to the east. He glanced up at Buffy's house. "We'll stay in the mansion today. Tonight...well, tonight, we'll meet at the, um, library?"

"Magic Box, ponce," said Spike, climbing out of the car, pushing Faith ahead of him. "Which you'd know if you'd hung around... You alright?" he asked Faith nonchalantly as she limped forward.

"I'll be fine," she said. "Buffy, your hand?"

Buffy winced. "Broken. It'll be fine."

Angel got back in the car. Spike stood there a moment, staring at Buffy, then got back in the car. They drove away quickly, Gunn still a little nervous.

Buffy and Faith moved inside slowly. "And he'll leave again when it's all done, just like that," said Buffy.

* * *

"What are you thinking?" Spike asked Angel.

"I'm trying to think."

"Of what?"

"Of all the reasons I can't be with Buffy. Besides the curse. The Mayor had them in a list—it was a good list. I drink blood. She needs daylight, and I burn in daylight. I'll stay young while she ages. It's all so..."

"Bugger it!" growled Spike. "Love isn't about worrying about tomorrow. Love is about saying that whatever tomorrow brings you'll bust right through it, destroy it. Love is about conquering all, isn't it? I'm ready to. You move on, go ahead. I'll prove my love for her is better than your love any day."

Angel looked at Spike blankly, then went to looking straight ahead with a sigh. "I'm supposed to be a hero. Sacrifice myself...I want to stay so bad. But I can't. I'm needed in LA. When this is done, I'll leave."

* * *

They met in the Magic Box after the sun set. The entire Scooby Gang was there, as well as the entire Fang Gang. It was a bit awkward and crowded, although most of the awkwardness came because Xander had greeted Cordelia with a hug, which had sent Anya into a giant snit.

"So, what do we have?" asked Buffy, sitting down beside Angel. Spike stood by the door, away from the others, looking ready to tackle Angel again.

Giles cleared his throat, glancing to Wesley and Gissard. "I've--we've been working on this all night. To recap, he stole power from a pure demon, he's tapping into the magic of the Hellmouth itself, and now he's seeking to inhabit the body of a Slayer, which would... well, the three together would make him essentially a God, more powerful than Glory. And we haven't been able to find anything to break through his powers."

Willow cleared her throat. "But we have found something magical about him--his ability to possess people--that we think we can disrupt."

"We don't know if that'll help!" snapped Giles. "It could very easily not do anything. Maybe he'll be trapped in this current body."

"And maybe it'll kill him!" said Willow. "Or--or maybe we could kill him, then, and he won't be able to hop to a new body, so we can kill him!"

"While he's still invulnerable?" asked Angel skeptically.

"I can do it," said Spike. "Like I laid the smackdown on him earlier while you ran, git."

"I was helping the wounded!" said Angel angrily, rising to the bait.

Faith, sitting near Angel, rolled her eyes. "Why do you have to act like a two-year-old when he's here?"

"Me? He started it!" growled Angel.

"Breathing or not, all men are the same," sighed Faith. "So, we have to beat him while Willow casts a spell." Faith glanced to the Wiccan, who was staring at Spike and Angel with bewilderment, having only been apprised of their souls a few hours before. "Willow?"

"What? Oh, yes!" said Willow. "Yes, I think we can do this." She gave a guilty glance to Tara; magic on this scale was darker than anything she'd touched before, besides Buffy's resurrection, and she knew Tara didn't entirely approve. Tara looked away.

* * *

Flint frowned, checking his watch. "It's nearly midnight—what do you think, Gristus? Am I doing the right thing?" He was standing in the middle of the street with Gristus, waiting.

Gristus considered it. "No," he said finally.

Flint was surprised. "That's a little harsh!" he protested.

"The right thing would have been to run away. Your last confrontation with the Champion will be at midnight. He'll come, and one of you will die."

"Good," said Flint.

"Last night you couldn't die!" protested Gristus. "Only he could have died! Tonight he can kill you!"

"Then he'll kill this body, and I'll come back again," said Flint. "Although how he'd do that while I'm invincible, I don't know. You worry too much, Gristus."

"I think he doesn't worry enough," said Angel, striding down the street. "Are you ready?"

"What happened to Willie?" asked Flint.

"Right here," growled a low, harsh voice from behind Flint. Flint turned slowly.

"And the Slayer?" he asked.

"Here," said Buffy, to his right.

Flint looked to his left and saw Faith standing there, no weapons in her hand. There were bandages on her forearms and face, and when Flint looked back he saw that Buffy had been bandaged as well. He glanced at the hand he'd broken, but it was bandaged, with a sword resting in it.

He glanced back to Angel. "So this is it, then? Our final confrontation? You must know that—"

"Oh, shut up!" roared Spike, shifting to game face and leaping forward, grabbing Flint and hurling him at Angel.

Angel turned, kicking Flint to the ground. Buffy advanced, slamming the flat of the swordblade into Flint's face. To the absolute surprise of nobody, the sword shattered. Buffy kicked Flint, knocking him back.

Faith charged in, while Spike glowered down at the minion. "Do I need to kick your butt to get rid of you?"

Gristus threw his hands. "No! Nope! I'll just go sit over there, and wait and see who wins, okay? I mean, if he wins and I've run off, he'll kick my butt, so you don't mind, do you?"

Spike shrugged. "Whatever, I guess." He turned back and advanced on Flint, his golden eyes boring into the demon's lack of a soul. "Hey, Flint!" He roared, watching as the Slayers and Angel pounded the demon. "Ever wonder where you fit in the big picture?"

"Um, no," said Flint, unhurt but unable to regain his balance.

"File under L, for loser!" howled Spike, jumping up and kicking Flint in the face with both feet.

Flint shook his head, chuckling, regaining his feet. "I don't think so." Angel and Buffy charged him together, and his hands spun out, each one finding a target. The Slayer and vampire went sprawling, the force of his blow taking them off their feet.

Faith charged in, her eyes blazing. Another blow knocked her down, sending her spinning into the sidewalk.

Spike glowered at Flint. "You know, you really tick me off sometimes." All his allies stayed down, stunned and dazed from the impossibly hard blows. Buffy, in particular, remembered being hit by Glory; even then, it hadn't been that hard, hadn't hurt that much.

Flint shrugged. "You should've taken my offer and helped me kill Angelus all those years ago. Think of how things would have gone differently!"

"I might still be evil," pointed out Spike.

"And you're so good now? I highly doubt that."

"I'm here."

"Are you stalling me so some witch can cast a spell on me?" asked Flint.

"Uh, yes," said Spike, surprised. "I mean no! No, definitely not."

Flint shook his head. "Terribly sorry, William. I cast a general purging spell over this area. No magic can penetrate the dead space it created. It's just you, and me. And the Slayer I've wanted for so long. Nothing you can do now can stop me."

Spike charged forward angrily, slamming a fist into Flint's face. It had no effect.

Flint grabbed Spike's arm, snapping it, and threw the vampire back to land on the ground with a crunching noise. Spike snarled with rage, rolling to his feet, his right arm limp at his side. "That's the best you've got?" he asked.

"Nothing you can do can kill me," said Flint, raising him arms. "I'm invincible. We've got all night."

Spike snorted. "You've got about till the count of—!" Flint charged, kicking him in the chest, the black priestly robes swirling around him. The force of the impact stove Spike's ribs in, and he fell back with a shriek that sounded like a broken whistle.

Spike lay on the ground moaning. "Now what?" asked Flint. "Do you plan to count down from whatever number you picked?"

Spike glared up at him. "Actually, I was planning to kill you."

"How?" asked Flint. "I mean, let's be honest, Willie, the only reason I haven't already knocked you cold as I did them is that you always were a superior conversationalist."

"I'll drink your blood."

"But you can't bite me."

"No," said Spike, standing up slowly, a fluid motion that made Flint take a step back. "But this one ought to really burn your bubble, mate. I think you can hurt yourself."

"I can hurt myself?" asked Flint. "But why would I..." He stared into Spike's eyes, which had shifted back to their blue human form.

They bored into him, forcing him to step back. "You don't have any kind of thrall or hypnotism," Flint said, moving back quickly as the import of the words sunk in. "You can't do that!"

"Yes, I can!" insisted Spike, continuing to follow him. "Every vampire can. It just takes time and patience to develop it."

"But you don't have those!" shrieked Flint, almost running backwards down the street now. "You have nothing even close to patience!"

"I learned it when I got a soul!" said Spike, running forward, chasing the demon in his incongruous priestly robes. "Come on, Flint! Be in me! Be in me!"

Flint stopped abruptly. "You didn't have enough time after you got a soul," he said. "I mean, I saw you without a soul. That means you just barely got one this summer. That means you're bluffing."

Spike thought about it. "How big was that purging spell you threw?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Oh, it covered the whole central part of the town, out to..." Flint looked around. "Well, maybe as far as that sign behind you, but no further. You tricked me." There was surprise in his voice.

Spike shrugged. "It seemed worth a try," he said. "Do you feel like you're going to die?"

Flint considered it, flexing his hands. "It tingles... like ice cream headaches. You're trying to cut off my abilities? Keep me from hopping to a new body? Admittedly, this will, if it's particularly effective, keep me from killing your Slayer friends; at least one of them. It won't defeat me."

Spike backhanded Flint. "You keep your hands off those Slayers," he said, angry.

"Which one is yours?" asked Flint, amused and unhurt. "I'll make you a deal. I'll kill one, and let the other live till I can jump between bodies again. Which one would you have me kill first?"

Spike thought about that for a second. His first impulse was to just let Flint kill Faith, but that thought caused him a gut-wrenching pain--the horror he'd hoped the soul would inflict when he tried to hurt anybody, the conscience he thought was so defective. But he didn't reveal it, choosing instead to smirk. "And option C?" he asked, trying to cover up the sudden pain.

Flint smiled. "You're a fool, Spike."

Spike shrugged. "That may be, mate, but I never came out here to beat you alone."

Flint arched an eyebrow. "How do you mean? The three I already defeated so easily? You'll fall just as easily as them, Spike. At least two of them are stronger than you, and Angelus is a more skilled fighter. You're just too stupid to know when to quit."

He shook his head. "Surprise," he said.

Twin jets of flame hit Flint, driving him off his feet and to the ground. He roared, struggling against the power.

Willow and Gissard stood in the street, both of them wearing flowing black robes. Willow looked darkly threatening in hers; Gissard barely managed not to look like an idiot in his. "Try again," said Gissard. "Remember, we have to separate spirit from non-spirit, force from resistance."

Willow frowned. "_Inciende!_ Less textbooky, more power!"

"I don't have any more than that! _Incante!"_

Their attacks were hammering at the part of Flint that was connected to the Hellmouth. As the fire bathed him it became visible, a cord of light stretching out behind him towards the school. He grunted, struggling to his feet. "Foolish children. Your earth-magic and element-magic are toys compared to the real power I wield."

Spike flipped out his lighter, opening it. "Sorry," he said, producing a flame with a quick flick of his thumb. "But I'm afraid you never did learn why it is I fight on, even when all hope is gone. It isn't stupidity; I knew you could have killed me. But that's not what being a Champion is all about."

Flint glanced at him. "You're not the Champion; Angelus is!"

Spike grinned. "Maybe. Or maybe all along he and I have been following the same path, never realizing it. Maybe all along we were more alike that either of us dared think." He pried the lid of the lighter open, spilling the lighter fluid out, and splashed it forward onto the demon, waving the flame onto it.

The sudden explosion of flames drove Flint back to his knees. Now flames both physical and spiritual probed at him, and he screamed. Spike drew a knife from his pocket, stepping around Flint, and slashed through the air at the link. The knife passed through without touching it, and Spike sniffed. "Immaterial. Can't you two cut this?"

Willow clenched her hands into fists. "This is hard enough without your backtalk, Spike. Can you ... be more quiet and less Spike? And try using ... ugh, something holy. This is all bendy and twisty! Gissard!"

"I'm trying!" barked the wizard. "He's more powerful..."

Spike glanced at the cross dangling from Gissard's throat and sighed. He reached into the flames, snatching the cross out. His hand was on fire now and he shook it, which just made the flames jump larger. "Agh!" he roared, swinging the cross through the link. It separated with a snapping noise, and Flint screamed in agony. Spike made a single cut with his knife, hacking it across Flint's neck. The demon grabbed at his throat, gagging, and Spike plunged the knife into the suddenly vulnerable demon's eye.

As Flint fell, Spike screamed in agony. "Put it out!" he screamed at Willow, waving his flaming arm in the air.

He was struck with a jet of water immediately, one that knocked him to the ground.

He climbed to his feet slowly. One arm was burned, the other broken. He was bruised, cut, and bloody.

He felt great.

* * *

Buffy watched Angel, who was holding an icepack to his head. "Does that help?" she asked. "I mean, I don't think it would, you being a vampire and all."

He shrugged. "Doesn't hurt," he said. "How're you doing?"

"Pretty crappy. So, Spike beat him. How about that?"

Angel managed a chuckle. "He always did know Flint pretty well," he conceded. "No big surprise to me that he would do that."

Buffy sat down beside Angel on her couch. "So, you're going back to LA."

He sighed. "Buffy... I've been trying to remember all the reasons besides the curse why we can't be together. But the curse...the curse was the one reason that was so bad I couldn't even let you decide, because I knew that it meant I could turn evil again—and I wouldn't expose you to that. Since the curse is gone...I've been thinking about it, and it seems only fair to me that whatever we decide after this, we decide together."

"Together?" she asked hopefully.

"I'll never age, Buffy," he said. "You'll be old and I'll be..."

"Just as sexy as the day I met you," she replied brightly.

"I'll never be able to go out with you in daylight."

"Which means you'll be there for every crappy mission I have to go on because I'm the Slayer. Able to help and never a useless thorn in my side."

"I drink blood."

"Hey, I'm thinking of Atkins. We all have dietary quirks."

"I have to go back to LA. I have... duties."

"Faith should have her own territory here anyway. I can take Dawn...if Dawn doesn't mind. If she does...well, we'll work something out. I want to go with you, Angel! I want to be a part of your life forever."

Angel nodded, staring at her. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Spike, staring at them through the door from the other room, turned away, turning back to Faith, who was bandaging his arm into a splint. "Terrific," he muttered.

She put a hand on his knee and leaned forward, smirking at him. "Hey, cheer up," she said. "It means Angel's leaving."

Spike leaned down, kissing her roughly on the lips. "And with him my reason for living," he said sarcastically. "And, wow, that isn't you. How does it feel to come in second best?"

She sat back down on her heels, staring at him with a hurt look on her face. "It sucks," she said finally. He nodded, grimacing.

"That's right, it sucks," he said, looking back at Buffy and Angel, who were embracing on the couch. He glanced back to Faith, who had resumed bandaging. "You still want me, then?"

She looked up at him, surprised. "Always."

"All right, then," he said. "But if that's the way it is, we'll do it properly, you hear me? I'll hear no mention of his name. None at all. Savvy?"

"And no mentioning Buffy, then?" asked Faith, a little spark of hope in her eyes.

"Too right!" said Spike, nodding. "And...and we aren't having one of those sometimes, on-off Harmony things. You hear me?"

"That reminds me...Harmony's still around, and we keep on letting her live. She could be a problem."

"Never mind her, I'm working on something here!" said Spike. And while there was anger in his voice, there was an edge to it too--he wasn't used to be this honest with somebody. "And what we have, it's not going to be just like every thing I've ever had with women...none of this dysfunctional garbage, none of this using me."

Faith's eyes glimmered. "Can't I use you...just a bit?" she asked.

He growled, leaning in closer to her. "You wanna get out of here, go find somewhere still open and have a good time?"

"Bronze closes at three," she said. "Still a good hour of dancing, boozing and fighting to be had."

"And vampires to stake," he rumbled against her throat. She shivered as he nipped the skin of her neck, teeth grabbing then releasing her skin.

"Faith, we need to talk," said Buffy from the doorway.

"I know, I know, you're planning to leave with An—with your man," said Faith. Spike stood up, glaring at Buffy, lowering his injured arm into the sling Faith had put on him. "Can we have this conversation tomorrow, B? We were planning on hitting the Bronze."

Buffy stared at them, then shrugged. "Okay," she said. She couldn't understand how the two of them could possibly have the energy to go out after the fight they'd been in; didn't understand why anybody would want to go out after a fight like that. But this was Spike and Faith, and even if they were insane, they had probably both saved her life tonight, so she would let the madness slide.

Faith darted forward and hugged Buffy, the first hug she'd ever given the other girl. "Thanks for everything, B," she whispered, then turned back to Spike.

He offered her his left arm, a smirk on his face. "Don't wait up for us, eh?" he said, careful not to look at Buffy. Careful not to think too hard about what she might think of this faithless move on his part.

But hopeless love only got a vampire so far in this world, and the idea that somebody--anybody--wanted to be with him just now was more than he had before. And it was more than he deserved. And he'd be damned if he was going to just let that slip by him.

Buffy followed them to the front door, and watched out the window as they stalked into the night. "Wow."

"What is it?" asked Angel.

Buffy turned back, smiling. "I guess if they can make a happy ending then I really do have to believe in them, don't I?"

"In happy endings?" asked Angel.

Buffy nodded. "Hey, so, a no-clause soul," she said, fluttering her eyelashes at him. "I wonder just what that would be good for, eh?"


	31. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. I'm just borrowing them and letting my imagination roam free.

Summary: AU Season Six. At the end of the season Spike and Angel both have souls, and both have Slayers. You do the math.

A/N: This epilogue was originally part of the chapter behind it. I've rewritten the whole story, so I pushed this epilogue out into its own chapter so it would read better.

* * *

_Epilogue -- six months later_

It was a lavish wedding, complete with every possible confectionery delight the bride could have wished for. On this day, her day, nobody else even seemed to matter.

Spike was wearing a nice shirt and slacks, which was a strange feeling for him. Faith was on his arm in a half-decent pair of pants and a halter top, and even if Spike was trying not to laugh at loud about the entire wedding in general, he had to admit that they were underdressed for the occasion.

It could have been worse. He'd seen the bridesmaids, seen the outlandish uniforms they were wearing, and he knew perfectly well they were awful. Terrible. In fact, next to those dresses, Anya looked downright radiant.

Actually, when he thought about it in those terms, it seemed that she was smarter than he had realized. After all, she had three fairly beautiful women at her side--one of whom had stolen Spike's heart while punching him in the face--and now she looked like the best-looking one out of the group.

He and Faith stayed in the back of the room, keeping an eye on the assorted demons and humans gathered for the wedding. Spike tried not to look at Buffy, as he knew that would just upset Faith. And then she'd try to hide it from him. And then they'd both sulk for a week.

That might happen anyway, but he was totally not going to be the one responsible for it.

He could see Angel in the front row, holding his son--his son!--and flanked by women that weren't Buffy. Spike hoped that caused Buffy no end of jealousy. Not enough to break them up, though. Just enough to make them suffer.

He was all too aware that his relationship with Faith was on precarious grounds. If Buffy were to be single again, that might just destroy their fragile bonds. And he had been working hard on making their relationship last; she was really the first woman he'd been in a relationship with that truly loved him back.

He wasn't about to throw all that away.

He saw Xander make a break for the door and glanced to Faith. "Boy wonder is running for it. What do you think?"

"I think Buffy is fighting a demon," said Faith. "You take care of Xander; I'm on the demon."

They broke apart, each one heading for their target. Spike tried to keep from hurting Xander when he grabbed him near the door; but he also tried to keep Xander inside. "Hey, what're you running from?" he asked, pushing Xander against a wall.

"Me. I'm running from me," said Xander.

Spike hadn't been paying any attention to the drama up front, so he had no idea what Xander was going on about. "Oy, what? Never mind. The girls have it; why don't we go back in and finish this thing fast before your family loses it completely."

Xander sneered at him. "Don't. Just don't, Spike. I'm going."

Spike stared at him, surprised. "What?"

"I'm going. This is just never going to work. Never."

Spike's stare was incredulous. "You're kidding, right, Harris? I mean, this is your big day, your moment of triumph and what-not." Xander moved to escape and Spike pushed him back against the wall. "No, I'm serious."

"You know what it's like to be a monster, Spike!" hissed Xander. "You know what it's like to be... I'll hurt her. I'll hurt her, and leave her, and break her heart, and you know it! Look around you at my family! That's me! It's me all the time, not just those moments when I'm not looking and it sneaks into me! That's me!"

Spike stared at Xander, horrified. "You're... you're running out on her? Now?!" Then he stopped to think, and smirked, letting go of Xander. "Well, I guess that makes sense. You never did have much in the way of stones." Xander flushed, but Spike wasn't done. "What happened to the guy who came by to stake me in my crypt before I'd have a chance to seriously screw Faith up, huh?"

Xander felt like Spike was missing the point here, and didn't know how to explain that it was the same thing for the same reasons as far as he was concerned. He loved Anya deeply, but he knew--just knew--she'd get hurt from this, from marrying him. And she could do a lot better.

Spike laughed, stepping back to let Xander by. "Well, I guess this party's a bust, then." He glanced back at Faith, who was returning. There was a dark look on her face, and for a fraction of a second he was sorry he was letting Xander go.

Xander made it outside before Faith caught up with him. He was half-way to his car before she could get a hand on his shoulder. "Stop it!" she said, spinning him around. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like, Faith?" he asked. "I'm walking out. Jilting her at the altar. Just... just go away!"

"Why?" she demanded. "Look, I'm no expert on love, but I can see you love her. Don't you?" There was a little desperation in her words. His situation was a little too close to hers for comfort.

He shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. Faith, this is hard enough for me as it is. Please don't make it any harder."

She looked away, unwilling to let him see any hint of weakness on her face. "Look, Xan, don't... don't throw all this away over this. You--what right do any of us have to happiness, right? Especially me."

Xander tried to back away from her, and she moved with him, following him. There was a desperate edge to her voice now. "I mean, I tried to kill you. I know, things like this, we break them. I know that! And I know--yeah, I know I did wrong by you. I'm sorry! Why are you throwing this all away? Why...? Is this a Buffy-thing? God, all the guys go for her, don't they!"

"Faith!" yelled Xander. "It's not a Buffy thing. It's just... I'm not... I'm not good enough. I'm not _worthy_!" He ran his hands through his hair, trying to cover up the shaking. "I could never do anything but hurt her."

Faith choked back a sob. "You think so, Xan? Then go. Just... just go. We'll try to...No, look, you know I don't really believe in love and all that, and you know I'm not really any good. You know that better than most! But what you have--it's good, you know. Not just to have somebody there for you, but somebody who's willing and ready to love you back. Somebody who treats you right and you know she does, you know it! She loves you... and you're breaking her heart."

Xander could hardly untangle the parts of that sentence that were about him and the parts that were really about Faith. "Better now than later," he said. "Better now than when she's stuck with a loser like me."

"She could have had anybody!" snapped Faith. "All this time. Why do you think she's with you? She knows! She knows who you are, what you are, and she wants you anyway! Just..."

Xander tried to fight back the anger, tried to fight it all back down. "I can't... I can't do this!"

Behind Faith, in the doorway of the chapel, Spike stuck his head out into the sunlight. He pulled it back with a curse. "Oy! Bring him here, love, I need to say something to him."

Faith sighed, grabbing Xander's arm and pulling him back. "No!" said Xander, struggling.

"Quiet," said Faith. "You'll hear what Spike has to say, and if you don't like it, you can go, okay?"

Spike was standing the shadows smoking a cigarette, and he had a deep frown on his face. "Listen, you can run away," he said. "It's your life, and you ought to be able to wreck it if you like. I don't particularly care. But you know something, I think you're right. For what it's worth."

"Thank you," said Xander, trying to break free of Faith.

"Not all the way, you know. But that bit about breaking her heart? You always know, don't you? You're the one of us who really sees. You always saw what I was. After you knew I slept with Faith that first time, you came looking to stake me, remember?"

Faith turned to Xander, a look of rage appearing on her face like a thunderstorm out of a clear sky. "What?"

"Hear me out, love," said Spike patiently. "You knew, even then, what I was. What a monster I was. You saw through me. When everybody else thought I was toothless, you knew what I was capable of. You saw my intentions, my heart--such as it was. You saw." Spike stabbed a finger at the tuxedo Xander was wearing. "I don't know why you just cottoned to this now--maybe you knew all along, and were just fooling yourself--but you see it, don't you? You see how this ends. You see what you are, and what you'll do to her."

Xander nodded enthusiastically. "That's exactly why--"

"That's the coward's way out," said Spike dismissively. "Go on an cower and whimper if you want, but don't lie to yourself. You're running away because you see what is and you won't be man enough to change the way it is. I fought hell, moved heaven and earth, to change myself. How hard could it be for you?"

Xander started shaking with rage. "Don't you dare--you haven't changed! Not at all! Don't you go holding yourself up as some shining example! Don't you dare!"

Spike shrugged. "Then I'm not. But I've still changed more than you're willing to."

Faith let Xander go this time, and he stomped off into the darkness. Spike sighed, tossing the cigarette onto the carpet and grinding it out with his heel. "Maybe you better go try to tell his bride all that, because I reckon she doesn't know any of it."

Faith shrugged. "Buffy's with her. Willow. They're better at it."

"How many of them do you think understand it?" asked Spike, jerking a finger in her direction. "You an' me, we've been off the straight and narrow, and we know what it's like to be a monster. They don't know. They have no idea what it means. Harris? He knows what it's all about, and has known longer than any of them. And if he looks in the mirror and sees a monster that'll break her heart--do you think any of them see that when they look at him? They don't know. They have no idea what that means, what kind of hell he puts himself through for them."

Faith stared at Spike dumbly. "I thought you didn't like Xander?" This was a mystery to her, a Spike who seemed to care.

He shook his head brusquely. "I don't. I really don't. But it's hard not to see... and they've never seen. Much of a useless wanker as he is, at least he sees."

Faith shook her head. "He tried to save me from myself, once, and I tried to kill him for it."

He laughed. "Well, then, I forgive him his weaknesses. He did try to save my girl, and that's worth something."

Faith wasn't sure most days whether Spike wanted to be with her or not, or if she was just a matter of convenience. Most of the time she told herself it didn't matter.

Hearing him call her his girl was a comforting thing.

She nodded and left, going to find Anya.

He stood there alone, leaning against the wall and watching the too-bright sunlight that came in through the door. He was exhausted from Slaying, exhausted from hunting down the three nerds, and exhausted from trying to keep up with Faith all the time.

He was fighting his own nature every day, trying to sort out prophecies between Angel and himself, and trying to figure out his ever-shifting emotions. He was struggling to adapt to this soul, which was tarnished and ugly, and trying to work out how these people all around him felt about him. Trying to relearn everything he'd thought he knew about the world.

It was incredible. It was terrible.

Buffy came through the door with Angel, and he nodded to them, not quite making eye contact with either of them. He did focus on the baby for a minute, that too-precocious child that seemed so out of place in Buffy's arms. He even managed to smile for the kid, trying to work out how he was related to it for a minute.

"Spike," said Angel carefully. He was aware that he had everything Spike wanted, and that Spike could be vindictive. He didn't want this day to get any worse.

Spike nodded to him. "Angel," he said without thinking. He didn't notice the way both of them looked at him oddly, focusing all his attention on Connor.

Angel cleared his throat, thrown off stride. "Is, uh, everything okay in Sunnydale?"

Spike shrugged. "Good, good. Things good in LA?"

"Fine," said Angel. He had no idea how to talk to Spike when the younger vampire wasn't being snarky. "Uh, I had Wes send you a copy of the prophecies we've been reading... the, uh, ..."

Spike managed to grin saucily. "Look, things like this, they're destiny, right? The winner was picked before either of us were born. Just go about doing good, don't worry about rewards--if you're doing it for the reward, then aren't you just a mercenary? Try doing it for the right reasons, see what that gets you, huh?"

Since he wasn't looking at Angel still he didn't notice the shocked expression.

Buffy cleared her throat. "We're staying in a motel--could you give Faith our number?"

"Yeah, sure," said Spike, still not looking at her. _Just walk away..._

She read it out to him, and he carefully filed it away. Once she and Angel were gone he finally started breathing again.

He was surprised. Talking to Buffy hadn't hurt like it used to; less than half, maybe.

Was this what moving on was like? He was in a relationship that was, according to Tara, at least halfway healthy most of the time. They talked, even, which was amazing to him. All his past relationships had been one-sided at best.

This was an amazing realization.

He went looking for Faith, determined to let her know that even if he didn't love her, maybe he didn't quite love Buffy either.

For any other couple that might have been a deathknell. For them, this was progress.


End file.
